


Once Upon a December

by Peachdreamsandperseus



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peachdreamsandperseus/pseuds/Peachdreamsandperseus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom is an ordinary boy from Dublin, Sybil is a not so ordinary girl from London and, after a chance meeting in a Camden coffee shop, it's not long before they find themselves falling head over heels in love. Soon enough a question - *the* question - is asked, leading to a clash of cultures between two very different families that makes for an interesting Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Saw Her Standing There

She slips around the curtain and smiles sympathetically as she passes him a cup of tea. He looks a sorry sight, sitting there in a hospital bed with his arm in a sling and a grimace of pain across his otherwise handsome features.

"I've been a bit of an idiot, haven't I?" he asks, his eyes cast down and staring into the milky depths of the tea.

"You have a little," she replies, perching on the end of the bed. "But it just so happens that you're a very loveable idiot."

He looks up at her at last, giving her the first hint of a smile she's seen since they got here. "So does this mean you're going to give me a second chance then?"

She nods and shuffles closer to him. "There was never any doubt. Besides, someone has to look after you... how are you feeling?"

"Sore," he replies abruptly. "But I think my pride's wounded more than anything." He's surprised when she leans down and tenderly brushes her lips against his - it's their first kiss. "What was that for?"

"Kissing it better," she replies timidly, playing with the fine strands of hair that have fallen across his forehead.

He chuckles and brushes his nose against hers. "My arse hurts a bit too..."

"Tom!" she chides, playfully swatting his uninjured arm.

"Oh, come on," he says with a cocky grin. "Don't pretend you haven't looked."

"I've looked alright."

"And?"

She can't help but roll her eyes in a way that would make her eldest sister proud. "I'm not telling you... it's bad for your ego and it's because of that we've ended up here in the first place."

"Fair point," he concedes. "But I was only trying to impress you."

She smiles and, in all honesty, thinks that that has to be one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to her.

"Sybil,"

"Hmm?"

"I've not exactly been entirely honest with you and I'm sorry for lying... but I can't really ice skate."

She laughs and shakes her head. "Really? And there was me thinking that professional figure skaters ended up in hospital all the time."

"I just thought it would be... romantic," he says sheepishly. "But it's turned out to be quite the opposite."

"I mean it, you know," she smiles, bringing her still gloved hand up to cup his cheek. "You're a loveable idiot, Tom Branson, but you're  **my**  loveable idiot... and life with you is never going to be boring."

Yes, she is most definitely his - her heart stolen by a kindred spirit following a chance encounter in a Camden record shop just two weeks earlier...

**_-xxx-_ **

**Two weeks earlier**

The rain catches her completely off guard - she's not even sure why she's surprised, what with it being late October and the rather optimistic decision to wear a leather jacket and thin hoody over her dress and leave her umbrella at home. It was tempting fate really and she's certain that the inevitable cold she'll develop in the next few days will serve her right for trying to be positive for once. She dives into a nearby shop - a relatively new record shop that she's been meaning to visit for ages - and pulls down her hood, brushing her sodden curls out of her face. The shop is warm and inviting and it has that glorious smell unique to places like this that are filled to the brim with old things - they are echoes of a bygone era and she's sure that, if they could speak, would probably have a tale or two to tell. Along with literature and art, music is one of the great loves of her life and it's places like this that she feels most at home - places where she can lose herself for hours, escaping into another world where nothing bad can ever happen to her.

He doesn't see her at first - the shop has been dead all afternoon and he's too wrapped up in his book to pay much attention to anything else. When he does notice her, he has to do a double take and it's like something out of one of those horribly clichéd romantic comedies that are constantly repeated on ITV2, ones that he somehow sits watching into the early hours of the morning (he's lost count of how many times he's seen Bridget Jones' Diary) as though powerless to change the channel despite the remote being mere inches away from him. She's beautiful - both classically and unconventionally so at the same time - and he's transfixed by her movements as she browses the racks, her fingers - nails painted black and silver - tracing across the sleeve of a Diamond Dogs vinyl.

"Can I help you?"

The voice calling out across the shop startles her and she looks up to see a devastatingly handsome man sitting on a stool behind the counter with a copy of George R. R. Martin's ' _A Game of Thrones_ ' in hand and a half empty bottle of coke at his side.

"Umm... no," she replies. "I'm just looking."

"Alright well let me know if there's anything you need."

"I will," she smiles. "Thank you."

He nods and tries to go back to his book but his eyes keep flicking back to her and suddenly he's no longer interested in the fall of Viserys Targaryen (" _Little shit had it coming to him_ ," he thinks to himself).

She's aware of him watching her and, strangely enough, she doesn't mind. She looks back at him and notices how bright and blue his eyes are, how they're fixed on her watching her every move and suddenly she feels like they're in one of those adverts and he's going to start singing about how he likes old movies.

She's looking at him. She's looking at him looking at her and, knowing that subtlety has never really been his strong point, he's certain that she's probably finding him more than just a little bit... creepy. He sees her posture visibly slump as she reads the name flashing up on her phone, clearly not wanting to speak to whoever is on the other end. He returns the smile that she gives him as she steps outside and, once she's gone, he can't help but laugh. Pretty girls come into this shop all the time and he's even found himself flirting with some of them, but there's just something about this one that somehow feels... different.

He wonder if he'll ever see her again and, if he does, could he pluck up the courage to ask her out for a drink?

...or maybe just getting her name would be a good place to start.

**_-xxx-_ **

Having just spent her last three pounds on a mug hot chocolate (with whipped cream, of course - times aren't that hard  **just**  yet!) she's taken refuge from the unrelenting rain in a nearby coffee shop, getting lost in her thoughts as she replays that phone call over and over again in her mind. They want her home for Christmas...

...even him.

This is a shock to the system - she's seen and spoken to her mother and sisters since she moved out, but not him. She's really not sure whether or not to accept, but at least she has time to make her decision before she has to give an answer.

"Excuse me," someone says. "Can I sit here?"

She looks up and sees the man from the record shop standing in front of her. "Of course," she says with a smile and shifts her bag out of the way.

"You were in the shop before," he says with a lilting Irish accent that makes her heart melt.

She nods. "It must have been a quiet day for you to be able to remember individual customers."

"You could say that."

"I'm Sybil," she blurts out.

"Tom," he replies. "So, Bowie fan?"

She furrows her brow, slightly confused by his question. "Huh?"

"You were looking at the Bowie stuff, I just thought..."

"Oh, sorry... I get you," she apologises. "But, yeah, I am. You?"

Tom smiles. "How can you not be? The man's a god."

"Now you see," Sybil says, taking a sip of her drink. "I have to disagree with you there... the man  **is**  god."

"Fair point," he chuckles and leans back in his chair as he begins to feel more relaxed around her. "Favourite album of his?"

"That's like asking me to pick my favourite Beatle, I just can't do it. Is it boring if I say Ziggy Stardust? I like his early stuff the best... anything from Space Oddity to Scary Monsters really."

"No, I completely agree... the eighties and onwards was a bit hit and miss in my opinion. I mean, it's Bowie, so it's still brilliant in a way... but I really don't like the whole electronica thing from the nineties. Not really a Tin Machine fan either."

"So do you own the shop then?" she asks, changing the subject ever so slightly.

"I wish," Tom scoffs. "No, it belongs to a mate... I work there a few days a week and, in return, he charges me lower rent on the flat we share. It's not perfect, but it'll do for now."

Sybil nods, understanding where he's coming from. "You're biding your time while you wait for something better to come along."

"Exactly," he replies. "I was a writer before the place I was working at went bust a few months ago."

"What do you write about?"

"History and politics mainly... and pretty girls who wander into record shops to escape from the rain." He laughs when he sees the look on her face. "That was cheesy, wasn't it?"

"Just a bit," she smirks.

"Enough about me," he says, stirring his tea. "What about you?"

Sybil sighs. "I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing with my life. I turned down a place at University at the end of my gap year and, while I figure things out, I spend most of my time painting. I sell some of them online but a friend has a stall on Camden market. I don't mean to brag but there's been quite a bit of interest lately..."

"No doubt mummy and daddy are making sure you're alright though," he teases but quickly realises she doesn't find it funny.

"What makes you say that?" she asks defensively.

Tom shifts uncomfortably, certain that he's blown it and that she's going to walk out on him. "It's just, well... the way you talk and your mannerisms... I can tell you were brought up well and... look, I'm sorry, I was wrong and I shouldn't make assumptions. I'm not one to judge people. Hell, I'm Irish, I know what that feels like..."

His sincerity and all that has transpired between them so far is enough to make her forgive him. "It's fine," Sybil replies. "Things aren't exactly straightforward where my relationship with my family is concerned... I can get a bit defensive. I'm the one who should be sorry, you couldn't possibly have known. I don't want to talk about it just yet though, if that's alright with you?"

"Yet?"

"Oh, you didn't think this was the last time we were going to see each other, did you?" she says, the warmth back in her voice once more.

He quirks an eyebrow at her. "You're very forward."

"Is that a problem?"

"Quite the opposite."

"Good," she says, reaching into her bag for a pen and tearing off a corner of one of the pages in her sketchbook. "Well, here's my number... call me, text me, whatever, and we'll sort something out."

"Wait, you're... going?"

"I have to," she replies apologetically, sounding almost disappointed. "My flatmate is cooking dinner and I promised I'd be back in time. It was lovely meeting you though."

"And you," he says, standing up as she does to say his own goodbyes. "I will call, I promise."

"You better had," she smiles, zipping up her jacket. "Oh and, by the way, my favourite Beatle is Paul."


	2. Bigmouth Strikes Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She speaks a million words a minute - quick but still so incredibly eloquent and it's hard to place her accent. She's so full of life and energy and her smile is enough to brighten up an otherwise gloomy November day. He doesn't care if she's cryptic, if half the things she's saying don't make sense or even if she does come across as being a little bit eccentric - they're qualities he hasn't really come across in girls he's gone out with in the past and it makes a refreshing change. He's desperate for things to go perfectly today - he can't screw this up, not if he wants to have any chance of a second date."

It's two weeks before he calls her. They've been texting one another nonstop, but both have been so incredibly busy lately that there just hasn't been the time to arrange anything.

" _What are you doing this Saturday_?"

"Nothing, why?" she asks, putting her phone on loudspeaker so as she can carry on painting, frowning slightly as she wonders whether or not it was right to put that splodge of red there. "Where are we going?"

" _Ice skating in Hyde Park_."

She raises her eyebrows in surprise and laughs at his suggestion - he really doesn't seem like the ice skating type. "Umm... alright," she replies, honestly not knowing why she's agreeing to something so potentially... dangerous.

" _Great_!" he replies excitably. " _I'll book the tickets and let you know what time... maybe we could go for a drink or something to eat afterwards_."

"I'd like that," Sybil smiles, catching sight of her flatmate, Thomas, lurking in the doorway. "See you Saturday then?"

" _Saturday_ ," he repeats. " _I have to go, the gasman just turned up... bye, Sybil_."

"Bye," she replies and can't help but grin as she ends the call, but her happiness is short lived when she sees the look that Thomas is giving her. "What?"

"Nothing," he replies with a smirk, twirling a cigarette between his fingers as he watches her. "So... who is he? You may as well tell me because you know you're only going to get it much worse from Gwen."

Sybil sighs and sets down her brush. "He's just this guy I met a couple of weeks ago... His name is Tom, he's twenty-six and originally from Dublin."

"And... does he know?"

"No," she replies, shaking her head. "It's not exactly something you tell someone within a few hours of meeting them. I told him that it was complicated."

Thomas sighs - he likes Sybil, he really does, but sometimes she doesn't do herself any favours. "You can't keep it hidden from every man you meet. Look what happened with the last one... Greg?"

"Gavin..."

"Whatever... you kept it from him for months and, when you did tell him, he saw it as some sort of betrayal."

"Oh, he completely overreacted and you know it."

"Alright, so he did but... just don't make the same mistake twice."

Sybil smirks. "Never did I think I'd ever see the day when I started taking relationship advice from Thomas Barrow."

"I'm a changed man," he replies. He's completely right - when she'd first met him, Sybil had believed Thomas to be cold and rather unfeeling but, as they'd gotten to know each other, she'd soon learnt that, underneath that public persona, he was quite the opposite. He'd mellowed out since the relationship with his boyfriend had started to get serious and, last she'd heard, they were thinking about looking for a flat together.

"How's Eddie?" she asks. "It's strange not having him around." Eddie was a soldier and was currently on a tour of duty in Afghanistan - he's a likable man and he makes one of her best friends incredibly happy, what more could a girl ask for?

Thomas smiles - a rare occurrence, but it's a nice smile nonetheless. "He's... good. Obviously he can't tell me exactly where he is or what he's doing but he's alive and still in once piece. That's all I care about really... he says he might even be able to come home for Christmas."

"Thomas, that's wonderful," she replies excitably. "Are you going to meet his parents?"

"You're not the only one with a complicated family, Sybil," he replies. "They don't know that he's gay... he plans on telling them next time he's home."

"If they love him then they won't care... besides, this is twenty-twelve, it's not that big a deal."

"You should start listening to your own advice," he says. "Have you given any more thought to what you're mum asked?"

"No," she replies, shaking her head. "But no doubt Mary and Edith will drag me up there kicking and screaming."

Thomas chuckles - while her sisters might not get on most of the time, they make a formidable pair when they team up. "So where's your mystery man taking you?"

"Don't laugh... ice skating."

It's the most Thomas has laughed in weeks.

**_-xxx-_ **

She meets him just outside the Tube station on Hyde Park Corner on Saturday afternoon; he takes her gloved hands in his own and kisses her cheek before they set off.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she apologises. "It's only the beginning of November and already the Christmas shoppers are out in force!"

"It's far too early for all of that... I shamefully do everything last minute!"

"Me too," she replies. "Though you can guarantee that my sister will have everything done and wrapped by the first week in December."

"You have a sister?"

"Two, actually," she tells him. "Mary and Edith. They're both older than me and they fight like cat and dog... but I love them so dearly. What about you? Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"I'm the second youngest of five," he says and chuckles as she gives him a look of pure astonishment. "I have three older brothers, Niall, Kieran and Éamon, and a younger sister called Órlaith. I've got two nieces and a nephew, about a thousand cousins and we all live within less than a few miles of each other... well, except me, of course. It's unusual to go back to my mam's house and not find at least one of my sisters-in-law or aunts round having a good gab over tea. It's one of the things I miss most about being home, actually."

He tells her all about his childhood growing up in Dublin and she finds herself squeezing his hand that bit tighter when he explains that his father had died when he was sixteen - he'd gone to bed one night and never woke up. It had been peaceful, but an absolute shock nonetheless.

"His funeral lasted for days," says Tom with a melancholy smile, subconsciously brushing his thumb across Sybil's knuckles. "Everyone came round to ours on the Thursday night, we buried him on the Friday and the wake was still going on in the early hours of Sunday morning... people just kept turning up."

"It must have been hard then," she says, thinking about how awful her grandfather's funeral had been just a few years earlier.

Tom shakes his head. "No... it was a good laugh, actually. It's just how it goes in Irish families... it's supposed to be a celebration of life and Da wouldn't have wanted it any other way."

She wishes she had the ability to talk about her own family as openly as he does about his, but it's just so hard... Thomas is right though, there's no use keeping it from him longer than she has too - if he likes her, then he'll accept her no matter what and, with any luck, won't go running for the hills. For now though, she is content to listening to his stories - she adores his voice and the way his accent caresses every syllable, the way he moves his free hand to emphasise his point and the multitude of expressions that cross his handsome face.

"This is getting a bit depressing, isn't it? Tell me about your sisters... I know you said that it's complicated, but it doesn't seem like you have a problem when it comes to them."

Sybil smiles and lets go of his hand, slipping her arm into the crook of his elbow so that she can feel more of his body against hers. "It's not really that I have a problem talking about them," she corrects. "It's just that... well, they're not exactly... normal. Oh, don't worry, they're not criminals or anything," she says, seeing the slight look of panic on his face. "Well, I did get cautioned by the police once and Edith's had a few speeding tickets but nothing sinister."

She speaks a million words a minute - quick but still so incredibly eloquent and it's hard to place her accent. She's so full of life and energy and her smile is enough to brighten up an otherwise gloomy November day. He doesn't care if she's cryptic, if half the things she's saying don't make sense or even if she does come across as being a little bit eccentric - they're qualities he hasn't really come across in girls he's gone out with in the past and it makes a refreshing change. He's desperate for things to go perfectly today - he can't screw this up, not if he wants to have any chance of a second date.

His optimism is short lived and, the second he pulls on the skates, he already knows that he's in way over his head. So he might have told a little white lie about being an experienced skater when, in reality, the closest he's ever really come to ice is a whisky on the rocks. Still, she's confessed that she's only tried it once or twice herself so at least they can look like idiots together.

... No such luck.

Sybil glides effortlessly across the rink, graceful and elegant despite the initial wobble.

"Are you coming?" she calls out to him, thankfully still standing close to the edge so he can keep hold of it and slide along when she's not looking.

"Sorry, I'm a bit rusty," he fibs as he slowly moves towards her - a rather precocious little girl of no older than ten is showing off by doing spins and twirls in circles around him and, getting slightly annoyed, Tom wonders if anyone would notice if she 'accidentally' tripped over his foot and wiped the smug smile right of her face...

...but that would be cruel.

"She reminds me of Mary," Sybil laughs. "She was always showing off when we were children... actually, she shows off a lot now too, come to think of it." She tells him more about her sisters as they slowly lap the rink - he is listening to her, but not really paying much attention as he tries not to fall flat on his arse. From what he does manage to catch, Mary works in PR - she has her own business with offices in both London and New York - and is married to a city solicitor named Matthew. Edith is a journalist like him, writing a weekly column for one of the broadsheets (he can't remember which), sharing her witty observations on the plight of the modern woman in a way that has been described by critics as something akin to "Jane Austen meets Miranda Hart".

"She's very good," Sybil says, turning round so that she's now skating backwards. "She surprised us all when she said she'd got the job. I knew that she'd been writing for her University's newspaper and that she's kept a diary every year since she was little, but none of us would ever have thought that she could have made a career out of it."

He's thankful when she stops and he's able to take hold of her hands to steady himself again. "Your fingers are freezing!" he exclaims, the tips exposed to the cold by her fingerless gloves. "Here, take mine."

Sybil is about to protest but he's practically forcing the oversized leather gloves onto her petite hands - it's clear that there's a protective side to him, one that only comes from being a big brother. "Thank you," she mutters and looks up at him with dreamy eyes. "You know, I'm really enjoying myself... I'm amazed at how quickly this is all coming back to me."  
"I'm glad," Tom smiles. "Though I have to say I'm enjoying the company more than anything."

"Me too."

Their eyes meet, one of his hands finding her waist and the other coming up to her face, tucking a strand of hair that has escaped from under her hat back behind her ear. She can feel his warm breath on her skin and see it swirling in the frozen air. He's so close and she flickers her gaze down to his lips and then back to his eyes as if she's searching for permission to lean in and claim them, to mark her territory and let the world - and him - know that he's for keeps...

...but where would be the fun in that?

He leans in, his eyelids fluttering closed and she notices how impossibly long his eyelashes are - in fact, she's rather envious of them. Giggling, she pushes him backwards and breaks the spell.

"You'll have to catch me first!" she says mischievously as she skates away from him.

" _Minx_ ," Tom thinks to himself. " _Right, you can do this... just focus and try not to make a fool of yourself. You've come this far and there's a kiss in it if you can manage to move just a couple of feet towards her._ " Mustering his courage, he sets one foot down in front of the other and mimics her movements. " _There now, this isn't so difficult_."

He's so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn't realise that he's picking up speed, nor does he hear her calling his name until it's too late.

"Tom... Tom, STOP!"

"I can't!" he says, beginning to panic. He crashes into her and they both tumble down onto the ice and landing with a thud, Tom landing on his arm at an awkward angle with Sybil lying on top of him.

"Are you alright?" she asks, wincing as she pulls herself to her feet - there'll be one or two bruises in the morning, that's for sure. "Tom?"

"I think my wrist is broken!"

**_-xxx-_ **

And so that was how they came to be spending the rest of their evening sitting in the Accident and Emergency department of the local hospital and, having spent just under six hours waiting to be seen, the X-rays had revealed that it was nothing more than a sprain.

"Bloody NHS," Tom grumbles as they finally leave the hospital - it's close to midnight by now and all hope of carrying on with their original plan of dinner and drinks has long since gone. "I'm really sorry about all this... you didn't have to stay you know."

"Of course I did," Sybil replies. "Besides, it's definitely one of the more... eventful first dates I've ever been on."

They both laugh and he has to admit the same. "Let me make it up to you... dinner at my place on Monday?"

"Only if you can promise me that there will be no more trips to A and E... or should I bring a box of ice with me so I can use it to store your fingertip until we can get it stitched back on? "

"You know, most people would just bring a bottle of wine," he replies and she swats his arm - a little habit of hers it would seem. "I'll have you know that I'm a much better cook than I am a skater."

"Tom, even if the extent of your culinary genius was beans on toast it would still be an improvement!"

"Damn," he says, snapping his fingers. "You've just ruined the surprise."

They fall into a comfortable silence as they walk the streets of London, Tom picking at the loose threads on his sling while Sybil stares down at the scuffed toes of her boots. "Am I really yours?" he asks after a moment of two, the question having been niggling at the back of his mind since she'd said it to him.

"Do you want to be?"

"As in your... boyfriend?"

Sybil shrugs. "I don't know... I think it's a bit early for that but I think there's something. I'd like it if there was something."  
"Me too," he smiles and pulls her into a tight embrace. "I really like you Sybil, even if you do seem mad as a box of frogs..."

"You don't know the half of it," she smiles, burying her head against his chest and taking in the smell of his aftershave that lingers on his scarf. "But I wouldn't mind showing you."

He puts his fingers underneath her chin and tilts her face up so that she's looking right at him. This time, he doesn't hesitate as he leans in to kiss her, her lips parting slightly underneath his and a little sigh escaping them as he quite literally takes her breath away.

"Darlin', there's so much I want to show you too," he smiles. "And I think you and I are going to be brilliant together..."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dinner is a relative success and he manages to make it through the culinary process with only the odd burn to add to his battle scars. The wine flows just as easily as the conversation does and it's not long before the pair of them find themselves beginning to feel the effects of it. It makes them bolder and braver, her especially as she caresses his ankle with her toes under the table. Taken completely by surprise, her ministrations cause him to choke on a piece of pasta and he fears that yet another date is going to end in a trip to the hospital if she carries on like this..."

Naturally, Gwen and Thomas had pounced on her as soon as she'd walked in through the door - she'd managed to escape their interrogation on the condition that she promised she told them all about her day with Tom in the morning. What she hadn't expected this to mean was being dragged from her bed before ten (she never gets up before ten on a Sunday) and forced to sit at the kitchen table with a full English in front of her cooked up by Thomas.

"You were out all day!" says Gwen, a fiery red-head from Leeds, with far too much enthusiasm for this ungodly hour. "Spill."

"I told you, we went ice skating," she says, smothering her plate with brown sauce. "We were going to go for drinks afterwards but it didn't happen."

"Oh aye?" Thomas quips with a raised eyebrow.

Sybil rolls her eyes. "Ugh, is it really just all about sex with you? He fell and sprained his wrist... we spent most of the night in hospital."

Gwen pours herself a glass of orange juice and looks up at her friend. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah, he's fine... just a sprain," Sybil replies. "He's invited me over to his for dinner on Monday to make it up to me."

"So we shouldn't expect you home until at least Tuesday afternoon then?"

The two women groan- the sooner Eddie gets home the better.

_**-xxx-** _

Jake Davies scans the contents of the fridge sceptically - he's always known that Tom is a good cook but usually they don't bother with anything overly fancy. The only time he ever buys stuff like this is when there's a woman involved.

"You still need me to make myself scarce tonight?" he asks his flatmate.

Tom nods, not even looking up from his newspaper. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd do..."

Jake sighs. "The same for me, yeah, I know," he says. "I'm going out with some of the lads from uni anyway; we haven't seen each other in a while. I'll crash on someone's sofa."

"That's not the reason I'm inviting her over here and you know it!" Tom replies. "That's not who I am anymore."

Jake cocks his head to one side and squints. "Is that a grey hair there, Branson? You're getting old."

"I'm two years younger than you!"

"You're only as old as you feel."

"Piss off, Jake."

_**-xxx-** _

She arrives at his flat a little earlier than expected but he really doesn't mind. Thankfully she's left the box of ice for his finger at home and brought a bottle of rose instead.

"You watch," he says, pouring two rather large glasses. "We're probably tempting fate and will end up needing it."

Sybil laughs and gratefully accepts the wine. "We'll just have to improvise," she says. "Are you sure there's nothing I can help with? I feel useless just sitting here."

Tom shakes his head. "No, it's fine," he says. "I'm quite possessive when it comes to the kitchen, it's my domain."

"Well that's good," replies Sybil, leaning against the worktop. "Because I can't cook at all. I can bake... quite well, apparently. I'll have to show you some time."

"Maybe you can let me lick the bowl out afterwards."

"Maybe I will," she replies flirtatiously, not missing his double entendre. "What are we having anyway?"

"Some pasta-mushroomy-meaty shit... I don't know."

"A regular Gordon Ramsay, right down to the mouth."

"I know, I'm filth," he replies with a smile. "If you insist on doing something, there are plates in that cupboard down there."

He can't help but admire the way her impossibly tight jeans cling to the curves of her body, mentally chastising himself for thinking with his cock when he's practically only just met her. Maybe that's the kind of person he was in his youth, but he's grown up since then and maybe, just maybe, he's ready for a serious, grown up relationship to match.

"Tom?" she asks. "Earth to Tom!"

"What? Sorry... I was miles away."

"Anywhere nice?"

He gives her that boyish, lopsided grin of his and tops up their glasses. "Nicer than here with you? Absolutely not."

Sybil rolls her eyes - his lines are cheesy but the sincerity behind them is incredibly adorable - and goes to set the table. This entire set-up is incredibly domestic and she feels butterflies in her stomach as, just for a moment, she lets herself wonder " _what_   _if_?" What if things work out between them? What if, say a year from now, they're still together and having dinner at each other's flats? What if they have their own flat?

" _Stop it!_ " she tells herself. " _You're getting way ahead of yourself... he's just a random guy you had coffee with and this is only your second date._ "

But he's not just that. He's not just anything - she genuinely likes him, more than anyone she's liked in a long time. She can already tell that he's something special and she'd basically told him so in the hospital on Saturday night - there's no way that she's going to let this one go and, after dinner, she's going to tell him about her family...

...but maybe she needs more wine first.

Dinner is a relative success and he makes it through the culinary process with only the odd burn to add to his battle scars. The wine flows just as easily as the conversation does and it's not long before the pair find themselves beginning to feel the effects of it. It makes them bolder and braver, her especially as she caresses his ankle with her toes under the table. Taken completely by surprise, her ministrations cause him to choke on a piece of pasta and he fears that yet another date is going to end in a trip to the hospital if she carries on like this.

"Can I ask you something?" she says between mouthfuls of pasta. "Why did you lie to me about being able to ice skate?"

"You'll laugh at me," he replies. "Besides, I told you why... I just wanted to impress you."

Sybil isn't convinced. "I think there's more to it than that."

He sighs and sets down his fork, cleansing his mouth by taking a sip of wine. "Alright, but you've got to promise not to laugh," he says, only continuing when she nods in agreement. "It was because of an argument I had with my brother, Kieran. My grandparents owned a farm up in Galway and we'd spend summers and every other Christmas up there. There was a lake not too far from the house which would always freeze over enough that we could skate on it. It was quite a small village so we knew all the other kids and there was this one girl, Aoife. She was a year older than me but we were the best of friends. Anyway, when I was thirteen, she told me that she liked Kieran and that he'd kissed her on Christmas Eve. I was so jealous, he knew that I'd started to see her as more than a friend but he went after her anyway... he was almost seventeen by this point and, I don't know, teenage girls just seem to have a thing for older lads. She'd gushed to me about how brilliant Kieran was on the ice so, being the arrogant little sod that I was, decided to show her that I was just as good, if not better."

"What happened?" Sybil asks, utterly enthralled by his tale - he has a wonderful voice for storytelling, so melodic and filled with emotion. "Did you prove it to her?"

"No," he replies. "The only thing I managed to prove was my own stupidity. I had a blazing row with my brother, not just about this but so many other things just came spilling out too. I'm sure you've had those kinds of arguments with your own sisters."

"Too many times to count."

"I didn't listen to him when he warned me that the ice wasn't deep enough that year, that it had been too warm for it. I thought he was just telling me that so that I couldn't show off to Aoife but he was right... it wasn't safe at all. I made it out to the middle of the lake before it cracked and, well... I fell in."

Sybil gasps. "Were you alright?" she asks. "Well, I can see you're alright now but... oh my God, Tom!"

"I ended up in hospital for a week with hypothermia... still, Aoifa did give me a kiss when she came to see how I was so every cloud and all that."

"Why would I laugh about something like that?" she asks sincerely, only just realising that their hands are joined on the tabletop, fingers entwined and her thumb caressing his knuckles.

Tom smiles as he too notices their hands. "Because I'm a fool and it served me right. I guess the reason I lied is because I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it... that I could face my fears and if I could do that then, when it came to you, I'd know that I could do anything."

"I don't understand," she says quietly, not entirely sure where he's taking this.

"You scare me," he says bluntly. "How you make me feel scares me... Christ, when I was cooking earlier, I found myself wondering what it would be like if we were doing this all the time, coming home from work, talking about our day and... I'm falling for you. Hard...

and that scares the shit out of me."

Sybil feels like she wants to cry - her heart is racing and she feels light headed. Nobody has ever said anything like this to her before and the scary thing is that she feels exactly the same.

"So was I," she admits. "Tom, I..." a loud bang cuts her off and she whips her head round to look out of the window. "Hey, it's Bonfire Night... I completely forgot. Can you get up onto the roof of this building?"

Tom nods. "Yes, why?"

Grinning mischievously, Sybil gets to her feet and, taking the bottle of wine with her, reaches for her coat as she heads for the door. "Come on!"

**_-xxx-_ **

They aren't the only ones who have had the idea of coming up the roof but they manage to find a space right up against the wall. She snuggles into Tom's side - he's loaned her one of his hoodies to wear under the coat, the sleeves are too long and she pulls them over her fingers to keep warm.

"Well, I'd say this is infinitely more successful than our last date, wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely," Sybil replies. "But just promise me something... don't ever,  **ever** , go near ice again, okay?"

"I promise," he laughs and pulls her closer to kiss her, being mindful that there are other people around and being careful not to get too carried away. They pull apart and he smiles at the absolute look of wonder on her face as they watch the fireworks shooting up from various places around the city, lighting up the night sky in a blaze of colour.

"You like Bonfire Night then?" he asks.

"Love it," she replies. "When I was little, we used to go to displays all the time. My favourite one was always the one up in Yorkshire in the village where my aunt and uncle live but, obviously with school and stuff, we could only there if it was a weekend. We'd have pockets full of cinder toffee and sparklers when we got that bit older. It was wonderful, but coming home to hot bowls of soup by the fire was always the best bit."

"You don't speak much about your parents," he says, stating the obvious. "You've told me all about your sisters, but nothing about them. What do they do? What are they like?"

Sybil looks up into his eyes - those beautiful blue eyes that she's more than just a little bit in love with. She knows that she has to start telling him a bit about who she really is, about the delicate relationship with her family and the reasons she left home so young. "My relationship with my father isn't great," she admits. "It's getting better but, for a time, it was just the absolute worst. We were so close when I was growing up but, when I was a teenager, I started to realise that he was expecting far too much of me and I just... snapped. I was supposed to go to Cambridge to study medicine and I agreed to go on the condition that my parents would allow me to defer the place to travel for a bit. So, off I go on my gap year and it's that horribly clichéd thing where I found myself. I was sitting in this makeshift bar in Halong Bay in Vietnam when I just had this... epiphany."

"How very spiritual," teases Tom.

"It was actually," she replies. "I couldn't figure out why the hell I was doing it. I was going to go home and put myself through five years of stress and misery doing something that I was never really that interested in anyway. I think being a doctor was one of those things where you say you want to do it when you're a kid and you don't know anything different. I might have made a good doctor, who knows. but it just didn't seem... me. Am I making sense?"

"Perfectly," he says. "But how does this involve your old man?"

"I came home and told him straight. I told him I wasn't going to university and it escalated from there. You know how, before, you said that the argument you had with Kieran was one of those where everything just comes out? Well, it was one of them. I left home the next day."

"Where did you go?" he asks, twirling one of her curls around his finger.

"Stayed with Mary for a while and then Matthew, my brother-in-law, mentioned that one of the secretaries at the firm where he works was looking for a flatmate. That's how I ended up where I am now."  
Tom sighs and it hurts his heart to hear the pain and sadness in her voice. "Have you spoken to him since?"

She nods and wills her tears to retreat - she won't cry in front of him, not now. "Once or twice. It made Mary's wedding quite awkward but we were civil towards one another... for her more than anything. I love my sister and there was no way I was going to let my stubborn pride ruin her day. I wish I could take it all back... I miss him, Tom. I miss my daddy."

He wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head as she cries into his shoulder. It's plain for anyone to see that this is something she's been keeping bottled up for so very long now. "Shhh," he whispers. "It's alright, let it out."  
"No, it's not alright!" she says rather angrily. "I've ruined your shirt and you've seen my cry already... it's only our second date!"

"I don't care," Tom chuckles. "You wear your heart on your sleeve, Sybil, that much is obvious. You can't help it if you get emotional over these things. I know what it's like to miss a father but mine isn't coming back... yours is if you just let him. Go to him, talk to him and, when you do, I'll be there holding your hand if you want me to be. Life is far too precious... don't waste it on the things you regret."

She gives him a watery smile and brushes her tears from her cheeks, praying that her mascara hasn't run - to sit here looking like the Joker from Batman is the last thing she needs. "That's very wise."

"It's a gift," he chuckles. "Look, I might not have cinder toffee and soup by the fire, but I have got apple pie, ice cream and a decent central heating system. Do you fancy it?"

"Have we got any more wine?"

"Plenty."

"Good... I need it."

**_-xxx-_ **

She helps him with the dishes after they're done eating - the pair of them behaving like children as they fling soap suds at each other, taking twice as long to complete the task as they steal kisses every now and then.

"Where's your iPod?" she asks when they're done. "Let's put some music on."

"Just on the shelf next to the speakers," he says opening another bottle of wine - a red left over from Jake's birthday back in August. "I trust your taste."

She takes her time flicking through the tracks, creating a playlist so as they don't have to keep getting up to skip songs they don't like or that aren't really appropriate for the mood (because nothing says 'romantic dinner with your potential new boyfriend' like ' _Closer_ ' by Nine Inch Nails... no, that's one for later.  **Much**  later).

"I love this song," she says, accepting the glass from him and swaying slightly to ' _Miracle Goodnight_ ' by David Bowie. "One of the few tracks from his later years I actually don't mind."

Tom smiles. "This was the first conversation we ever had."

"So it was," she replies. "Seems like ages ago now, doesn't it?"

"Indeed it does."

They're both a little drunk and he reaches out to take her hand, twirling her under his arm and causing him to spill wine down her top.

"Shit!" he curses, taking her glass from her and setting it down with his on the coffee table.

"It's alright," she reassures him. "I'm wearing a vest underneath, I'll just take it off and sponge it." Before he can say anything, she's pulling it off over her head, revealing a tantalising glimpse of her bare skin and of the tattoo on her stomach - he can't quite make out what it is and makes a mental note to ask her about it later.

"Here, let me," he says, taking her top from her and dashing over to the sink. "I'm really sorry."

"Let's just say we're even now," Sybil laughs. "I ruined your shirt, you ruined mine."

Tom chuckles. "A partnership of equals," he says, inspecting his handiwork and setting the garment down on top of the radiator to dry. "Speaking of ruined shirts, what you told me before, about your father, is that the big secret you've been hinting at? The thing that makes your family confusing?"

"No," she replies, shaking her head. "There's more to it than that. My grandfather... he was an Earl."

Tom's eyes widen and his jaw drops. This is exactly the kind of reaction that she had feared the most - the ones where she can't judge what he's thinking and what to expect next. "So you're like...  **Lady**  Sybil then?"  
"Not quite... I'm not titled. My father is the youngest of the two sons. His brother, my uncle, is the Earl now."  
"Shit."

"I know," she mutters. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, it's put most of the guys I've been out with off..."

"Well they obviously didn't like you as much as I do," he says, moving closer and placing his hands on her hips.

Sybil scowls at him. "I'm serious, Tom. If they knew from the beginning then they judged me by those standards, if they found out later then they thought I'd lied to them. I just want to be my own person without my family's name tainting everything I do. Now do you see why I kept it quiet?"  
Tom nods. "Yes, but you never have to hide anything from me, ever. Okay, we obviously come from different backgrounds but that doesn't matter. Here's some news about my life... it's  **boring** , or at least it was until I met you. You're interesting and beautiful and fun... you've got a weird family, who doesn't? Who cares? I just want to spend time with you and to make this work."

Sybil's arms come up around his neck and she stares right into his eyes like she's searching his very soul. "You're one of a kind, Tom Branson," she says with a slight smile. "Do you know that?"

He leans down and kisses her, softly at first but growing increasingly more passionate as he feels her fingers in his hair. His grip on her tightens as he pulls her impossibly close, the pair of them completely lost in each other as tongues caress, skin burns under a simple touch and hearts race from the thrill of it all.

"Stay," he whispers as they pull apart. "Stay here tonight."

Sybil shakes her head as she tries to control her breathing. "Tom, I can't. I..."

"I'm not suggesting... sex. No, nothing like that. It's late and a cab will cost you a fortune. Sleep with me, in the literal sense."

"Alright."

**_-xxx-_ **

She rummages through the various products in his bathroom, eventually settling for a simple bar of soap as she tries to remove her make-up. It won't come off completely, but she's managed to get rid of enough to make sure that she won't wake up with huge panda eyes come morning. Taking a deep breath, Sybil studies her reflection in the mirror - her hair is wild and she usually ties it up at night but she's using the bobble she keeps in her bag to make the pyjama pants he's given her fit a bit better. She doesn't know why she's nervous about this, she's not a virgin and has spent the night with men before. That's just it though - she and Tom aren't going to have sex (even though she thinks she wants to) and this whole thing feels so much more intimate than that. How the hell that works, she has no idea...

...but it just does.

He hastily tidies up his bedroom a bit, throwing his dirty clothes into the bottom of his wardrobe and neatening up his bookshelf a bit. " _It'll do_ ," he thinks to himself. " _She's a painter, she might see it as art_."

Climbing into bed, Tom leans back against the pillows and replays everything that has happened tonight in his mind. The Sybil that had walked through his front door and the Sybil who is now changing in his bathroom seem like completely different women - the woman that will tonight share his bed is no longer an enigma, she is more wonderful than he ever could have imagined and he can't remember the last time he felt this way about anyone.

"Are you sure this is alright?" her voice is quiet as she comes back into his room, closing the door behind her.

"Absolutely," he replies. "I mean, only if it's alright with you... I don't want you to feel like we're rushing things or that I'm pushing you into anything."

Sybil shakes her head. "I trust you to be a gentleman."

"I'd be careful about using that term to describe me," he smirks.

She laughs as she joins him under the duvet, all her nerves fading away as she shuffles closer to him. "You've got a good heart," she says with a yawn. "And that makes you more noble and chivalrous than half of those upper class prigs I had the misfortune of knowing growing up."

"Did you say pricks?"

"Prigs... with a g. Though, to be fair, some of them were pricks too."

He chuckles and kisses her one last time before reaching over to turn off the light.

"Night, Sybil," he says, his hand finding hers across the mattress.

"Goodnight, Tom."


	4. Second Hand News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's not sure what to make of the imposing figure standing in the doorway of his girlfriend's studio, dressed impeccably well in a black Burberry trench coat and knee length boots with heels as sharp as her glare. 
> 
> "Mary Crawley," she says icily. "Sybil's sister and the very least of your worries...""

It takes a while for her to realise where she is when she wakes up in the morning, but she smiles contentedly as she snuggles against the warmth of his chest, his arm tightening its grip around her as he mutters something incoherent in his sleep. She looks up at him wistfully, taking in the soft youthfulness of his striking features - his strong jaw, the perfect angle of his nose and the way his lips are parted slightly, just begging for her kiss. She indulges herself and he stirs from his slumber, smiling against her as she takes advantage of the slight change in their position, sliding her hand underneath his shirt and exploring the play of muscles beneath his skin. His own fingers find the bare flesh at the small of her back, pulling her closer as the kiss becomes more heated - they both know that this is heading somewhere and she nods her consent as he trails kisses across her jaw and down her neck to her collar bone. She helps him remove his top, the pyjama pants he's loaned to her quickly joining them in a heap on the bedroom floor. She straddles his thighs and begins kissing him again, caressing his chest, arms, hair... anywhere that she can reach. Letting go of the last of her inhibitions, she strips down to her knickers and looks into his eyes. It's a silent question met with a wordless answer as he flips her onto her back, rough though not unpleasant hands roaming her skin - her sides, her stomach, her breasts - eliciting the most delightful little sighs and moans as he revels in the sight of her for the first time.

Before he lets himself get too carried away, he reaches into the drawer of his bedside table for a condom - he can't believe that this is actually happening, that she's here and almost naked underneath him, chewing on her bottom lip seductively as she anticipates what is to come. He yelps in surprise when she gives his arse a squeeze as he pulls down his pants and boxers, her laughter at his reaction is clear and beautiful like nightingale song and he knows that neither of them can wait much longer. Hooking his slightly trembling fingers around the waistband, he slides her knickers down her wonderfully long legs and tosses them aside with almost wanton abandon, making her giggle even harder. She's more than ready for him and, nudging her thighs apart, he positions himself between them, claiming her lips in a tender kiss as their bodies come together at last. They move slowly, languidly, neither wanting to rush this as they give in to absolute pleasure and it is, in a word, perfect - it's not hurried or fumbled like so many first-time encounters with previous partners have been. This is something special and, while both of them know that they are each capable of giving into their primitive desires, there is something so much more erotic about being together like this, about the feel of skin-on-skin and the sound of breathless moans and sighs in each other's ears as their bodies are consumed by fire under their lover's touch. The pace quickens as they climb towards their peak, her hips rising up off the bed to meet his thrusts, her head thrown back and lips parted in ecstasy as she cries out his name, fingers fisting into his hair as she wills him to carry on, to never stop as she hurtles towards the epitome of pleasure. With one last thrust, he too finds himself spiralling over the edge and it's almost too much to bear as he collapses on top of her, rolling to the side slightly so as not to crush her under his weight.

"Good morning," she says once she's finally caught her breath - her skin is flushed and her eyes sparkle in the morning light, her smile radiant and infectious and he can't help but return it.

"Indeed it is," Tom smiles, his fingers tracing abstract patterns on her arm. "So, do you still think I'm a gentleman?"

She ponders his question, teasing him for a moment before giving him an answer. "No, but if that is the alternative, then I think I'll let you off... Oh, Tom," she sighs. "That was wonderful."

He lifts up an arm, wrapping it around her as she takes the hint to cuddle up against his chest. "Hmmm... I thought so too. You're stunning, do you know that?"

She blushes slightly at his words. "Mary's the beauty of the family. I'm just... normal, I suppose."

Tom laughs and moves so that he's hovering over her again. "Sybil, sweetheart, there is absolutely nothing just normal about you," he says, trailing gentle kisses all the way down her body, paying particular attention to the tattoo on her hip. "What is this?" he asks, tracing the outline of it with his finger.

"In the olden days, sailors would get tattoos of swallows after they completed long journeys, ones of five-thousand miles I think it was. I got it done in Sydney towards the end of my trip, I'd come a long way from when I started out in London, not just geographically but... spiritually as well. It's like I said last night, I learnt a lot about myself in those months I was away. It just seemed... fitting somehow."

"What about the stars?"

"Three stars for three sisters... they shine on their own but burn brightest as a constellation. That's what we are, Mary, Edith and I."

He smiles and rests his chin on her stomach, her fingers reaching out to play with his hair. "That's... deep."

Sybil laughs. "I drew it on a soggy napkin in a bar one afternoon, got suitably drunk and marched down to the nearest tattoo parlour. It's one of the most reckless things I've ever done but I love it."

"Would you ever get any more?"

"I don't know," she replies. "I'm not one of these people who would get one for the sake of it; it would have to mean something. To the artist, the human body is just another canvas but if you start to overwork it it can start to look..."

"Tacky."

"Not exactly what I was going for but yes," she laughs. "From what I see, you haven't got any. Would you?"

Tom shakes his head. "Probably not... I'm scared of needles."

"Hmm, well that would be a bit of a problem, wouldn't it?"

"Just a little."

She stares at him as they fall into a contended silence, still continuing her ministrations to his scalp. "Come here."

"No," he replies. "I'm not done down here."

"But, Tom, what are you... oh!" It soon becomes obvious what his intentions are as he slips underneath the duvet. "Hmmm... I... ARGH!" Sybil shrieks as the door to his bedroom is flung open and a rather rugged looking man walks in.

"Bloody hell, Tommy," he says hoarsely, not registering that his flatmate isn't alone. "The stories I've got for you about last night..."

"Fuck's sake, Jake!" Tom yells as he tries to preserve some of their modesty by lying on top of her and pulling the duvet around them as best he can. "Don't you knock?"

"Sorry!" he apologises. "So... this is your new bird?"

"Jake! Not now."

"I'm only being friendly."

Tom sighs. "Sybil, this is Jake. Jake... Sybil."

"Hi," Sybil says, not entirely sure whether she feels awkward or annoyed as she gives the man who interrupted what could probably have been one of the most pleasurable experiences of her life a slight wave.

"Umm... Sybil, would you like some tea? Coffee?"

She has to fight back a laugh - something she's never really been very good at - as the absurdity of the situation sinks in. "Tea would be wonderful."

"Alright..." he winks at Tom and gives him the thumbs up as he leaves them alone again.

Sybil laughs hysterically the second the door is closed and Tom rubs his face with his hands, his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

"I am so sorry about him," he apologises. "I swear the man has no sense of shame."

"It's fine," she giggles. "I had to meet him at some point and it's just as well he didn't come in a few minutes earlier."

"You have a point there; I'm just disappointed we didn't get to finish what we started."

He leans in to kiss her but she brings her hand up between them, her fingertips pressing gently against his lips.

"Later."

**_-xxx-_ **

"So what do you want to do today?" Tom asks her over breakfast. "That is, if you're not already busy."

She swallows a mouthful of toast and licks the crumbs off her lips. "Are you not working today?"

"No," replies Tom. "Not until tonight anyway. I work every other Tuesday and Wednesday nights at a garage and alternate weekends. My Uncle was a mechanic and he taught me the tricks of the trade when I was growing up."

"Jack of all trades?"

"And master of none," he laughs. "Nah, every little helps this day and age. The life of a struggling writer, you know?"

"Absolutely," Sybil agrees.

"What about you, Sybil?" asks Jake as he hands them a mug of tea each. "What do you do?"

"At the moment, I'm an artist," she says. "But I've had loads of other little jobs this past year. Mostly bars and cafe's because it was how we got by when we were travelling. Some were better than others."

"Ugh, tell me about it," Jake replies, the fact that he'd caught her in a compromising position with his flatmate all but forgotten by now. "I had some pretty crap jobs before I got enough money to buy the shop."

Tom nods in agreement and raises his mug in a toast. "To jobs that pay the rent!"

"I'm not doing anything today," Sybil says, finally answering his earlier question. "I've got a commission to drop off but you could come with me if you want?"

"Sure," he says with a smile. "I'd like that."

"Great... it's a date. No hospital visits and no crying this time... I promise."

**_-xxx-_ **

Gwen and Thomas have long since gone to work by the time Sybil returns back to their flat with Tom in tow. One of the great things about her working from home is that it's so peaceful during the days.

"How many of you live here?" Tom asks.

"Just three of us. Our landlady, Mrs Hughes, is always in and out though making sure we're alright. She's not actually married but she reminds us so much of Mrs Hudson from Sherlock that the name just sort of stuck."

He follows her into the kitchen where she immediately flicks on the kettle - the woman drinks almost as much tea as he does. "Look, I'm just going to have a quick shower and get changed. Kettle's on, make yourself comfy and I won't be long... I think Jeremy Kyle's just about to start so..."

"Don't tell me you like that?"

"Love it," she admits. "The people on that show make my family look normal!"

He listens to the sound of the water coming from the bathroom down the hall, smiling to himself as he hears her singing. For a moment, he contemplates joining her in there but, if he did then chances are they'd never leave the sanctuary of her bedroom all day - not that that would be a bad thing, it's just that they have places to be and things to do.

"How do you know how I take my tea?" she asks sometime later, having emerged from the bathroom clean and refreshed and now dressed in the same outfit she'd worn on the day they first met.

"I watched you this morning," he says. "You had two sugars and a little bit of milk in both cups. I'm a writer, I notice little character traits like that."

Sybil smiles. "Come on, I'll show you my studio."

Their flat consists of the top floor and the attic room of an old Victorian terrace, the latter being Sybil's workspace. While it may be small, it's bright and airy and there's an intoxicating smell of acrylic paint and turpentine. The thing he notices above everything else though is the colour - every shade and every hue covering various canvases and bits of paper stuck the walls and littered across the floor. There's an easel in the corner under the skylight with a half finished painting resting upon it.

She's good... very good.

"Sybil... this is incredible," he gushes, completely at a loss for words (something which doesn't happen an awful lot). "You have a talent here."

She blushes, not unused to receiving complements about her work but still unsure about how to react to them, even after all this time. "Thanks," she mutters. "I've never really seen it as a talent; it's just something I enjoy."

"It's very art nouveu, like that guy... erm, who am I thinking of? Mucha!"

"Alphonse Mucha? You know Mucha?"

"Love him," he says with sincerity. "I won't pretend to know a lot about art, but I like his stuff. I love his use of colour and the way everything just... flows."

"Is art critic another of your many jobs?"

"Fortunately not," he laughs. "Which is the one we're taking today?"

She points at a tall canvas propped up against the wall. "That one there, it's for one of my mother's friends. They've just bought a farmhouse in Tuscany and wanted something to go on the wall. She's paying me quite well for it, even though I did try to insist that she didn't have to and I'd do it for a discount."

"A farmhouse in Tuscany? Alright for some... though I  **can**  give you a farmhouse in Galway."

"Why, Mr Branson," she sighs dramatically. "That sounds quite wonderful."

**_-xxx-_ **

He's completely in awe as he steps through the door of the smart house in Belgravia - everything is so pristine and expensive looking. He's afraid to touch anything in case he breaks it or gets it dirty.

"Sybil, darling!" an incredibly well kept middle aged woman proclaims as she comes down the stairs and pulling Sybil into a tight embrace and kissing both of her cheeks.

"Lady Branksome," it's nice to see you again.

Lady Branksome rolls her eyes. "You've known me all your life and yet you still insist on the formalities," she chuckles. "And who's your young man?"

"Oh, this is Tom. Tom, this is Clarissa Napier, Viscount Branksome's wife and friend of my mother."

"Nice to meet you," he says, shaking her offered hand. "Your house is beautiful."

"Thank you," Clarissa smiles. "That's not a local accent now, is it?"

Tom shakes his head. "Dublin born and raised," he replies. "I came over here for work after I dropped out of university a few years ago."

"Oh how... nice," she says, eyeing him sceptically. "Sybil, Cora didn't say anything about you having a boyfriend."

"He's erm... I mean, she doesn't know yet. We haven't been together very long. I... I have the painting, if you'd like to see it," replies Sybil, tactfully changing the subject.

Clarissa gasps as Tom helps Sybil unwrap the canvas. "It's perfect, thank you so much. I'll just go and get the cheque. Two-hundred-and-fifty, didn't we say?"

"That's really too much!" Sybil protests even though, deep down, she knows she needs the money.

"Nonsense, dear. It's worth every penny and I'd gladly pay much more if you'd let me."

Before Sybil can answer back, Clarissa disappears upstairs again leaving her and Tom alone.

"You never told me that you dropped out of uni," she says quietly.

Tom furrows his brow in confusion. "Didn't I? I thought I had. Besides, you never told me that your parents friends were Viscounts."

"My uncle is an Earl, I thought that much would be obvious," replies Sybil. "Now come on, spill. Why did you drop out?"

"I was doing a history and politics degree at Trinity and, just after the Christmas of my second year, I decided it wasn't for me. A mate of mine had a brother who was setting up an online newspaper sort of thing here in London and they needed writers. I had an interview with him and he offered me the job."

"I suppose it's rather selfish of me to say that I'm glad... if you'd stayed then we probably never would have met."

"Well that's the funny thing about fate," he says, leaning closer to her. "It can be a bitch or a blessing." He kisses her just as Clarissa comes back downstairs, the pair of them jumping back from one another at the sound of her Manolos clicking on the laminate flooring.

"Here you are," she says, handing over the cheque. "Now, unless either of you would like to stay for tea, I think that's all."

"No thank you, Clarissa. We have somewhere we need to be but, thank you. I'll tell my mother you said hello."

"That would be lovely. I look forward to seeing her again."

They say their goodbyes with yet more kisses on the cheek and it takes every ounce of Tom's willpower not to burst out laughing until they're outside.

"What's so funny?" Sybil asks, bemused by his sudden outburst.

Tom shakes his head. "I'm sorry, but  **that**...  **her**. She was just... what a strange world you live in."

"It's not my world, not anymore."

"So, where do we have to be?"

"Huh? Oh, nowhere, I just said that so we could escape," she says with a devilish smirk. "Believe me, the last thing I feel like doing today is having tea with Clarissa Napier."

"Well, what  **do**  you fancy?"

Sybil reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her body lustfully against his. "I can think of one or two things."

"Is that so?"

"Mmhmm... but first I'm in need of lunch. I didn't get chance to really eat anything this morning what with Jake hanging around. Can we go somewhere?"

Tom nods, thinking it an excellent idea. "Course we can, but I was thinking that maybe we could go back to yours for dessert."

She toys with the zip on his jacket and gazes up into his eyes - her own already darkened with desire at the thought of everything they could do alone in an empty flat. "Well I certainly hope that chef has afternoon delight on the menu."

"Darlin', it's the special of the day."

**_-xxx-_ **

Tom shakes his head as he studies the meager contents of Sybil's fridge and sighs - he can't work with this.

"You've got three cheese slices, some salad cream and a pomegranate," he calls out to her - she's upstairs in the studio working but, with the door left open, she can still hear him.

"The pomegranate's not actually ours," she replies. "Gwen brought it home from a night out the other day. She said that some guy down the pub asked her to look after it for him."

He doesn't know why, but this really doesn't surprise him. It's been a month since they first met and after having been introduced to Sybil's flatmates he can see that they're just as mad as she is.

"Where's your laptop?"

"Bedroom."

He loves her bedroom and not just because of all the things they get up to in there. Like her studio, it's bright and colourful, decorated with photographs and things she's collected from her travels. Of course it's always a mess but, where Sybil is concerned, it's more like organised chaos. Some of his own clothes are beginning to find their way in amongst hers - his boxers kept in the drawer with her own underwear, shirts hanging in the wardrobe and a pair of pyjamas under the pillow. They're a near permanent fixture in each other's flats now and it's clear that things are serious, even after such a small period of time.

"What are you doing?" she asks as he comes back upstairs, throwing himself down into the chair at the desk.

"I'm going to do you an online shop," he says. "You need to eat properly; you'll start wasting away or make yourself ill."

Sybil sets down her brush and moves to stand behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders and bending down to kiss his temple.

"We've got a separate bank account for shopping," she says. "I'll go and get the card... oh."

"So... this is your mystery man?"

Tom looks up to see what has surprised her and isn't sure what to make of the imposing figure standing in the doorway of his girlfriend's studio, dressed impeccably well in a black Burberry trench coat and knee length boots with heels as sharp as her stare.

"Mary Crawley," she says icily, taking in the bemused look upon his face. "Sybil's sister and the very least of your worries..."

Sybil looks utterly bewildered at the sudden appearance of her sister. "Mary, how the hell did you get up here?"

"I know where you keep the spare key.

"Oh... well, more to the point,  **why**  are you here?"  
Mary pulls of her gloves and stuffs them into her pockets, her eyes never once leaving Tom as she sizess him up. "Because the family knows about you and, err..."  
"Tom."

"Tom," she says, his name almost sounding like venom on her lips. "Clarissa Napier told Susan Flintshire after you went to drop the painting off. She said that you'd brought someone with you and that you were all over each other..."

"We were not!" Sybil retorts.

"Darling, let me finish. Anyway, Susan told Aunt Roasmund, who told Granny, who told Mama, who was overheard by Edith who told me and so I took it upon myself to see if it was true. Apparently, it is."

Tom is completely baffled - he's got no idea who half those people are and yet they all seem to know about him. "Yeah, I'm Sybil's boyfriend," he says, standing up and offering out a hand to Mary. "Tom Branson. It's nice to meet you at last."

"Charmed," she replies and he honestly can't tell if her voice is dripping with sarcasm or disdain. "Look, they want you to bring him to Mama and Papa's anniversary meal next weekend."

"I'm in work then," he quietly says to Sybil. "But we'll sort something out."

"Good," Mary replies with the first hint of a smile he's seen since she got here. "Well, it's at Claridges so make sure you dress appropriately and know how to use a knife and fork."  
"With all due respect, Mrs..."

"Crawley," Sybil whispers.

"Mrs Crawley, I may be Irish but that doesn't make me uncivilised. I know  **exactly**  how to use a knife and fork."

"Darling," Sybil says, cutting him off before he goes on a full blown rant. "That's not what she meant... she was on about all the different ones for different courses."

"Oh, well that's fine," he says, purposefully ignoring the eldest of the Crawley sisters just as she had him. "My first job when I was fifteen was as a silver service waiter in one of the hotels in Dublin. I know how it works."

Sybil smiles and takes his hand in hers, squeezing it tightly and pressing a kiss to his stubbled cheek. "Another of your many hidden talents."

Mary rolls her eyes and resists the urge to groan - she knows now exactly what Clarissa had meant. "Alright well, I can't stay; I have a meeting at three. I'll see you next week and make sure you turn up!"

Sybil groans as she flops down onto the sofa having finally seen Mary out after a few more heated words at the door. Tom comes down from the studio and sits beside her, running his fingers through her hair as she lays her head in his lap.

"I'm sorry about her," she apologises. "That's not exactly how I wanted you to meet my family. They don't like getting news second hand so it was only a matter of time before they came chasing after us."

"You said your sister's surname was Crawley, did her husband take her name when they married or what?"  
"Umm... not exactly," she replies quietly, this being yet another thing she's not entirely sure how to tell him. "My brother-in-law is also my cousin."

"Is that even legal?"

Sybil laughs - it's the same question everyone asks her when she tries to explain the complex workings of her family tree. "It's a really distant relationship. His great-great-grandfather is our great-great-great grandfather or something, I don't know... I don't really understand. I hope you and Matthew get on though, you should do..."

"Mary scares me, she's like a pitbull."

"Mary scares everybody at first but she's truly lovely once you get to know her. No, it's my Granny you  **really**  want to watch out for... she makes Mary look like a fluffy puppy."

Tom lets his head fall back against the sofa, staring blankly at the wall and, nit for the first time, is left wondering what they hell he's gotten himself into.


	5. Feed Me To The Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He panics as he finds himself alone in the gents with Robert Crawley - this whole situation is awkward at best and the last thing he needs right now is to see his girlfriend's father's... appendage.
> 
> "You know, Branson," he says. "In this family, a respectable young man would have come to me by now and asked for my permission to go out with one of my daughters."
> 
> Tom raises his eyebrows, unable to believe what he's hearing. "You... you want me to ask for your permission to be Sybil's boyfriend? Sir, with all due respect, this isn't nineteen-twenty and she's twenty-one years old. She doesn't even live with you and..." He sighs and, seeing the look on the older man's face, he knows there's no point even trying to argue. "Fine... may I please go out with your daughter."
> 
> There's an uncomfortable silence as Robert contemplates his answer.
> 
> "No.""

Sybil stares at her reflection in the mirror - the woman starting back at her is completely different to the one who slobs around in tattered jeans and random band t-shirts and whose beloved red Converse trainers were falling apart at the seams because she's far too attached to them to throw them away. Her hair is sleek for once, her wild curls tamed into a simple yet sophisticated knot at the nape of her neck, adorned with a feathered headband she'd made herself one rainy afternoon. The dress - a turquoise 1920s flapper inspired garment with intricate beaded detailing - had been a bit of a splurge purchased with the money she'd received from selling a few more paintings online and she'd fallen in love with it the second she had seen it. She was under pain of death not to ruin the nude and gold Jimmy Choo courts loaned to her by Mary and, even just tottering around her flat, she was already terrified that her blood was staining the suede as they savagely cut into her heels.

Her phone buzzes violently on her dressing table as she pours herself a glass of wine, needing it to calm her nerves before she's thrown to the wolves.

" _Running late, meet you there? Tom xx_ "

She groans and slams the bottle down. Tonight had been the source of a fair few arguments between them since Mary had waltzed into her flat and announced that their presence was requested (or should that be demanded?) at a meal to celebrate her parents' wedding anniversary. His boss had refused to let him switch his shift at the garage and he'd taken it out on his unsuspecting, incredibly stressed out girlfriend - of course, he'd made it up to her... more than once.

Personally, Sybil doesn't have a problem with it - it's hardly his fault and, give him his due, he has at least tried to negotiate with his boss. No, what she's really worried about is how her family are going to react to all of this - they're already somewhat dubious about Tom, but the last thing she needs is for them to start judging him before they've even met.

" _Alright, let me know when you're on your way. I'll meet you by the stairs in the lobby. See you soon. S xx_ "

It's going to be a long night...

**_-xxx-_ **

She knows it's rude, but she checks her phone every five minutes for any sign of Tom's arrival and, each and every time she does, she sighs in frustration and slips it back into her bag. She's beginning to get worried - he said he wouldn't be long and that was over an hour ago. Thankfully, pre-dinner drinks had been arranged and so he still had time to make it for the meal. However, that time was beginning to run out and Edith had joked that maybe she'd been stood up (which, of course, she didn't find funny in the slightest)...

He wouldn't do that to her, would he?

No, of course not... he isn't like that.

"Sybil, your grandmother has asked you a question twice now," says her mother.

"Hmm? Oh, sorry Granny, I was miles away."

Her grandmother shakes her head. "Goodness, child," she says. "Where is that head of yours?"

She doesn't get chance to answer before her father suggests they move into the restaurant.

"I'll follow you," she says. "I'm just going to see if Tom's here yet."

Her mother smiles fondly and places her hand on her arm - she hadn't been sure what to think when she had heard that Sybil had a man in her life as she hadn't exactly approved of some of her youngest daughter's previous boyfriends. They seemed to have made her miserable in the end and she just hopes that this young man proves to be different.

"Alright, darling," she says. "But just try not to be too long."

She paces the reception area of the hotel, her heels clacking on the polished marble floor.

There's nothing else for it, she's going to have to call him.

" _Sybil_?"

"Where the hell are you?" she asks, a little more aggressively than intended. "You said you'd be here?"

" _I **am**  here_."

"Where? I'm standing exactly where I said I'd be."

" _Turn around_."

She doesn't notice him at first but, as the small crowd of guests dissolves and she finally sees him - he looks, in a word, dashing. A man in a three piece suit is to Sybil what saucy lingerie is to men - it makes her go weak at the knees and sets her pulse racing...

Tom is absolutely no exception to this.

The suit is a little ill-fitting but she really doesn't care. His hair is neatly styled and he's shaved - something she finds a little unusual since she's so used to the smattering of stubble that usually graces his cheeks. It's taking everything she's got not to mount him right where they stand.

Smiling, she hangs up the phone and practically runs towards him. Tom pulls her into a tight hug and kisses her temple.

"You look so beautiful," he whispers into her ear and her smile becomes even wider as she catches a hint of that expensive aftershave he saves for special occasions on his skin.

"You scrub up well yourself," she says, taking his arm as they head towards the restaurant.

**_-xxx-_ **

He handles himself remarkably well, never once cracking under the pressure as they watch his every move and just waiting for him to chose the dessert spoon over the soup spoon so they can have a good laugh about it later. If ever he's unsure, he waits for Sybil to make her selection and copies her movements - he may have waited at tables like this as a teenager, but that's quite different to actually sitting at one.

"So, Mr Branson," his girlfriend's mother pipes up. "What is it you do exactly?"

He politely sets down his cutlery and wipes his mouth on a napkin before answering. "I'm a writer," he says. "I haven't actually made much money from it in recent months so I've been spending most of my time either working in a garage or in my friend's shop. It's a record shop in Camden and where I first met Sybil."

"So nothing... stable?" Mary pipes up - there's something very odd about the eldest Crawley daughter tonight and it hadn't taken Sybil long to notice it at all. If anything, she would have gone so far as to say that she was ill and an ill Mary is an irritable Mary...

...and an irritable Mary is the last thing you want at a family meal.

"Well, it sort of is but it's not what I see myself doing forever. For now though, you do what you can to make ends meet."

"And you find that sort of existence appealing, do you?" asks her grandmother.

"Why yes, Lady Grantham, I do," he says, pleased with himself for remembering to address her by her title and not as 'Mrs Crawley' as he'd very nearly done when they were introduced. "It means that I'm open to options. If I was offered a job in oh, I don't know, Liverpool say, tomorrow I could be gone within a week."

It's her father's turn to speak now, and he sees Sybil visibly tense before he's even opened his mouth. "But surely if you intend on having some sort of relationship with my daughter then you should think about settling into something more permanent?"

"Papa!" Sybil hisses.

"With all due respect, sir," replies Tom. "Sybil and I have only been together just over a month. Besides, I've learnt to take each day as it comes so I'm sure we'd figure something out should the time come where we're faced with that issue."

"You know, if you are looking for something though, my editor knows somebody at the Guardian and they're apparently looking for new staff," Edith says, sensing an opportunity to diffuse the tension a little. "I can't promise that it's actual writing, perhaps just research or something, but if you wanted I could send some of your stuff over for her to read?"

Tom's eyes light up at the offer. "You'd do that?"

Edith nods. "It's not about what you know anymore, it's who you know. As I say though, I can't promise anything."

"No, I know... thank you."

Sybil beams at her sister, glad that at least someone has made the effort to have a civilised conversation with her boyfriend and not just question his life choices.

Sensing another barb forming on her husband's lips, Cora quickly turns to her youngest daughter and attempts to steer the topic of conversation in another direction. "So, Sybil, has Thomas heard anything from Eddie yet?"

**_-xxx-_ **

She's by his side in an instant as they make their way back to the bar, squeezing his hand and reminding him to breathe.

"You did well," she says and plants a kiss on his cheek. "The worst is over."

Tom cocks an eyebrow at her. "Sure about that?"

Sybil laughs. "You made it through your first Crawley family dinner. Lesser men would have fled at the fish course."

"I like Edith," he says. "She seems nice... and Matthew too."

"Matthew knows what it means to be an outsider coming into this family. I'd say you've got off relatively light compared to him where Mary's concerned, she was awful to him."

Tom frowns. "But... they're married."

"Oh it was anything but love at first sight. Speaking of Mary, she's been in the loo an awfully long time. Are you alright here while I go and look for her?"

"I'll be fine," he replies. "Just as long as your father doesn't lure me outside, throw me into the back of a van and have me shipped off to Brazil."

"You're weird, do you know that?"

What is it with women and going to the loo?

She's been gone for ages and even conversation with Matthew and Edith is beginning to get awkward. He can feel the eyes of the elder Crawleys upon him again and see them whisper in each other's ears. Excusing himself, he too escapes to the toilets needing a moment or two alone, however, his solitude is soon disrupted when the door swings open and Tom finds himself alone in the gents with none other than Robert Crawley - this whole situation is awkward at best and the last thing he needs right now is to see his girlfriend's father's... appendage.

"You know, Branson," he says as soon as he notices the Irishman standing by the sinks. "In this family, a respectable young man would have come to me by now and asked for my permission to go out with one of my daughters."

Tom raises his eyebrows, unable to believe what he's hearing. "You... you want me to ask for your permission to be Sybil's boyfriend? Sir, with all due respect, this isn't nineteen-twenty and she's twenty-one years old. She doesn't even live with you and..." He sighs and, seeing the look on the older man's face, he knows there's no point even trying to argue. "Fine... may I please go out with your daughter?"

There's an uncomfortable silence as Robert contemplates his answer.

"No."

"Why?"

Robert sighs and looks at him sincerely. "Because I don't want to see her getting hurt again. I presume she's told you about our current... situation?"

Tom nods. "Of course she has and I'll say to you what I said to her. Don't hold this against one another... I lost my father when I was sixteen. We were close but there were times when I was awful to him, to both my parents, and I'd give anything to be able to take back some of the things I said to him. He was a good man, the best really, and I realise now that he only had my best interests at heart just as you do Sybil's. Your daughter is the most remarkable woman, Mr Crawley, and I love her so much. I know things haven't ended well with some of her past boyfriends, but I would never, ever do anything to hurt her."

"You love her?"

He hadn't even realised that he'd said the words until he heard them repeated back to him and he can't help but smile as he realises the truth behind them. "I do."

"You're very eloquent," replies Robert. "But I swear that if you mistreat her in any way, I will have you torn apart by wild dogs."

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

"Good, now go before I change my mind."

He doesn't need to be told twice and makes a swift exit, only to quite literally bump into his girlfriend as they head back towards the bar."

"Ow," Sybil mutters, rubbing her arm. "There you are, I've been looking for you."

"I've been speaking to your father, in the toilets of all places."

"I don't want to know... but look what I've got!" She holds up a credit-card sized object to his face. "It's a key."

"A key to what exactly?"

"To a hotel room. This hotel."

"But, Sybil..."

"Matthew gave it to me," she says, seeing the look of horror on his face when he thinks she's booked it herself. "He'd planned on surprising Mary but they've had a blazing row and she's stormed off home. It's all paid for and he says it's ours... saves it going to waste."

Tom runs a hand through his hair, still not sure what to make of all this. "I feel quite bad about it though."

"Well, after being on my best behaviour all night, I rather feel like being bad... don't you?" she leans in and kisses him, capturing his bottom lip between her teeth and giving it a gentle tug, making it clear exactly how she wants to play her game tonight...

...And he's more than happy to go along with it.

**_-xxx-_ **

Sybil lets her head fall back against Tom's shoulder with a contented sigh as they soak their aching muscles in the bath. Whether it had been the unfamiliar surroundings or the copious amounts of incredibly expensive champagne they'd consumed, something had made them much bolder and wilder last night - it had been raw, primal and completely wonderful, both of them finally drifting off to sleep in the early hours of the morning when they were utterly sated at last. However, there is one thing still plaguing at her mind.

"Tom, last night, a couple of times we didn't use a..."

"I know," he sighs, disappointed with himself - in the heat of the moment, neither of them had really thought about it much. "I'm sorry."

Sybil shakes her head. "It was as much your fault as it was mine. I'm on the pill but I'll go to a chemist on the way home just in case."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Please," she replies. "I've never had to ask for it before." There's a moment's pause before she asks her next question - it's rather serious and catches him off guard. "Do you ever want children? In the future, I mean."

"I don't know," answers Tom with a hint of uncertainty. "I'm from a big family so it's the done thing, really. I think it would all depend on who I was thinking about having those children with though."

"This is nice, isn't it?" she asks, changing the subject mid-conversation as she so often does. "Promise me that if we ever end up living together that we can make sure we have a bath."

"A very big bath."

"A very big bath and a very big bed," Sybil replies with a smile. "I think that's all we'd need."

Tom laughs and kisses her damp hair. "I love you."

"I love you too," she replies in barely more than a whisper. Sybil had always been one to sigh and shake her head whenever she heard her friends telling their boyfriends that they loved them after only a matter of weeks but, with Tom, she just can't help but say it - it feels so right and so natural. "What time is it?"

"Just before eleven, I think. Why?"

"Well, I think we should start doing some research into how big a bed we'd need..."

Tom thinks that's an excellent idea.


	6. This Guy's In Love With Your

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He's never been more certain that she's the one and seeing her here, taking in her surroundings as she explores his hometown for the first time with a look of wonder on her face as the first snow of winter begins to fall from the heavens just makes him love her even more.
> 
> "Sybil," he says nervously, knowing that this is a conversation that could change both their lives forever. "Can I ask you something?""

November gives way to December, bringing with it a bitter chill and a smattering of frost making the trees and the pavements glitter in the early morning sunlight. Sybil shivers and pulls the duvet tighter around her, relishing these last few moments of warmth curled up against Tom's body before they have to get up - the heating in the flat is knackered and it's going to be another few days before they can get it fixed.

"What am I going to do without you for a week?" she asks sleepily.

"Nice to know you only want me to keep you warm."

"Why else do you have a boyfriend in winter? I won't need you come spring."

"You'll never tire of me," he says. "Even when we're old and grey."

"You're very sure of yourself," says Sybil, rolling over to look at him. "Do you still see us together then?"

"Maybe," he replies with a yawn. "But, if you only want me in the winters then it will technically only have been half the time... and we'll be there side by side in our mobility scooters with you stealing my blankets."

"And just think of all the Viagra we'll get through."

"Excuse me, I fully intend to be... fully functioning."

Sybil can't help but laugh. "I'll hold you to that."

"I should hope so... It's not a week, you know. I'm going this morning and I'll be back on Monday afternoon."

Sybil sighs. "I know, but I've seen you almost every day for nearly two months and it'll just be strange that you're so far away."

"It's Ireland, not Iran."

"Oh God, I'm turning into one of those women," she groans and buries her face into the pillow. "Those women I shout at on Don't Tell the Bride who can't stop crying when they leave their boyfriends for three weeks."

"So are you going to cry when I leave for four days?"

"You wish. I don't love you that much... Just make sure you bring me a present."

Tom chuckles. "I will," he says. He already knows what he's getting her...

...but first she needs to answer a question.

They say their goodbyes in the kitchen after breakfast, only to be told to get a room by a very disgruntled and somewhat hungover Thomas.

"Just ignore him," Sybil says. "He's pining still... Eddie isn't coming home for Christmas."

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me to Dublin," he pleads. "I checked and there are still seats available on the flight."

"What, just get on a plane, fly over to Ireland, turn up on your mother's doorstep and tell her I'm staying?"

Tom nods enthusiastically. "Yes."

"Alright," she agrees. "I'll come... a weekend away it is." Before Tom can say anything else, she dashes off back into her bedroom and returns a couple of minutes later with her laptop and her bank card in hand. "I don't really use this for anything but emergencies... it should be alright though."

"Are you sure?" asks Tom. "It's last minute so it's not going to be cheap."

Sybil nods as she begins to enter her bank details. "There's about two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand in this account... I'll just transfer the money back later on."

Tom is absolutely stunned. "I'm sorry; did you say two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand? As in a quarter of a million pounds?"

"Yes."

"Jesus Christ, Sybil."

"Most of it is the money I inherited from both of my grandfathers," she tells him. "Then there were some rather generous gifts from the family for my eighteenth and twenty-first birthdays and other payments here and there. I've hardly touched any of it... it doesn't feel right to unless I'm absolutely desperate. So many of the girls I went to school with are living in penthouses in the likes of Chelsea and Kensington where mummy and daddy pay for absolutely everything. I didn't want that, Tom, I wanted to make my own life and..."

"Sybil, love, you don't need to explain yourself to me," says Tom and pulls her into his arms. "Not now, not ever. I'm just shocked, that's all."

"And you don't think any different of me?"

"Of course not now, come on, we've only got about an hour before we need to leave for the airport!"

_**-xxx-** _

Tom spies his eldest brother standing in the middle of the arrivals lounge of the airport - they are the absolute image of one another, save for the fact that Niall is a couple of inches taller than Tom and has auburn hair instead of dirty blonde.

"Niall, this is my girlfriend, Sybil," says Tom, introducing two of the most important people in his life to one another. "Sybil, Niall."

Sybil smiles and shakes Niall's hand. "It's nice to finally put faces to names," she says.

"Mam know you've brought her?"

"Err, no," Tom replies. "I didn't even ask her to come until this morning."

"She won't mind though, will she?" Sybil asks, suddenly feel like she's intruding. "Because if she does then I can always find somewhere else to stay and..."

Tom chuckles and takes hold of her hand. "It'll be fine."

"You know Kieran's back with her again though," Niall adds as they walk towards the car park.

Tom rolls his eyes and sighs. "What's the tit done this time?"

Niall shrugs. "Clare kicked him out. He won't say what it's over but she'll let him go back in a couple of days or so."

"Clare, that's Kieran's... fiancée, right?"

"You been briefing her on the way over here, Tommy?"

"Tommy? I've never heard anyone call you that before... it's cute."

"It is not cute," Tom retorts.

His brother laughs. "He hates it, but he's been Tommy to us since he was knee high to a grasshopper."

"If you tell anyone about this when we get back to London, there'll be trouble."

"Wouldn't dream of it," replies Sybil with a smirk. "I'll store it away ready to use if I ever need to blackmail you."

**_-xxx-_ **

Sybil completely understands how Tom felt when she'd introduced him to her own family - Aileen Branson's jade green eyes never once leave her as she converses with her youngest son in fluent Irish. She had known that he spoke the language, but to hear him is another thing and, left alone in the living room of her boyfriend's childhood home, she can't help but let her mind wander and it isn't long before she's fantasising about him whispering rather salacious things in her ear in the tongue of his forefathers (actually, he could be asking for directions to the nearest post office and she'd still find it sexy - it's not like she'd understand it either way) whilst wearing that suit that had set her pulse racing...

"So, you're the one my son can't stop talking about?"

"I... erm, yes," replies Sybil, not exactly nervous as such but just taking a moment to pull her thoughts out of the gutter. "I'm Sybil, Mrs Branson, Sybil Crawley."

"None of that Mrs Branson nonsense, dear," she replies. "It's Aileen... Mrs Branson makes me sound like my mother-in-law."

Sybil laughs. "It's lovely to meet you... Aileen... Tom speaks very highly of you and I'm so sorry to impose on you at such short notice."

"It's fine, really," says Aileen, placing a tender hand on Sybil's arm. "Now, take your things up and put them in Tom's old room. I'll put the kettle on."

She follows Tom upstairs and into one of the bedrooms at the back of the house. He flops down on the bed, scrubbing at his eyes with his hands.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he nods. "Mam likes you."

Sybil smiles nervously. "I though she hated me at first from the way she kept looking at me. She seems like a very nice woman, exactly how you said she'd be."

"Don't worry about it," he reassures her. "She wasn't talking about you. You know how mothers get when they haven't seen you for ages."

"So who else is staying here?"

"Just Kieran and Órlaith," replies Tom. "She's at school and he's at work but they should be back soon. You've met Niall, and Éamon will probably be around at some point this weekend."

She finishes hanging her clothes up in the wardrobe and moves to sit beside him on the bed. "So... what are we going to do now that we're here?"

Tom shrugs. "I don't know, really," he says. "We can go to the pub tonight, if you want?"

"I'd like that," she smiles. "Show me real Dublin, not tourist Dublin. I really wanted to go off the beaten track when I was travelling but, apparently, it's not recommended in most places which is a shame."

"Yeah... Dublin's pretty much the same," he says with a smirk. "But stick with me and I think you'll be alright."

She kisses him softly, tenderly, knowing that they can't let themselves get carried away with his mother in the kitchen downstairs. "Come on," she says. "I'm parched."

"I'm so glad I fell in love with a woman who drinks as much tea as I do."

**_-xxx-_ **

He takes her to a quaint little pub that he used to frequent with his friends and brothers before he left for England, regaling her with stories from his misspent youth (though he's very vague with the details when it comes to a tale of a lads holiday to Magaluf when he was eighteen which had ended in him dancing on a bar like something out of Coyote Ugly wearing nothing but a mankini and a pair of cowboy boots).

"I still can't believe your family call you Tommy," Sybil says with a smirk, drawing patterns in the head of her pint of Guinness with her finger.

"It's embarrassing."

"It's adorable," she replies - he's not impressed. "When I was born, Edith was only a few years old and had a really hard time trying to pronounce my name and it always came out as Sybbie... that's who I was to everyone until I was about ten or eleven."

"Tommy and Sybbie... what a pair we make."

"We sound like something from a children's television programme... Maybe that's how we'll make our fortune."

Tom laughs. "You've already got a fortune."

"I told you," she sighs. "I don't want to use it. I'm fine as I am... besides, I think some of it is still being held on trust until I turn twenty-five so I couldn't spend it even if I wanted to."

He watches her for a moment or two - still completely bowled over by how she can possibly be so... wonderful. In the two years he'd spent at university, he'd come across girls from families like hers and yet none of them had ever seemed so grounded. Maybe that's just her though, maybe she's just one of a kind. Not that any of it matters, of course because there is at least one thing that he's certain of...

...he's going to marry her.

**_-xxx-_ **

They decide to walk back to his mother's house, foregoing a taxi so that he can show her more of the city by night.

"I've never really understood why people rave about Dublin," she admits. "But, now that I'm here, I can see that it's beautiful."

Tom smiles and squeezes her hand. "The scenery's improved since the last time I was here."

He's never been more certain that she's the one and seeing her here, taking in her surroundings as she explores his hometown for the first time with a look of wonder on her face as the first snow of winter begins to fall from the heavens just makes him love her even more.

"Sybil," he says nervously, knowing that this is a conversation that could change both their lives forever. "Can I ask you something?" He had never intended it to be this way, not since the thought had first entered his mind several weeks ago when they'd cuddled up on the sofa in his flat watching Casablanca (he couldn't believe that she'd never seen it). He'd planned for it to be some time around Christmas, perhaps even on New Year's Eve when, with a bit of luck, it would have been snowing and he would have taken her somewhere really special, somewhere that meant something to both of them. Now, however, he knows that you can't just plan these things and that they just have to happen of their own accord.

"What?" she asks with a yawn, it's been a long day and she wants nothing more than just to crawl into bed and get a good night's sleep before properly starting her big adventure in the morning.

"Will you marry me?"


	7. Be My Wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This can't possibly be happening - things like this just don't happen to girls like her. These are the things that are reserved for fictional heroines in romantic comedies and her beloved books. She looks into his eyes - those beautiful blue eyes that are filled with so much hope and adoration - and never once in her entire life has she felt quite so loved as she does in this moment."

" _Will you marry me_?"

Her jaw drops. This can't possibly be happening - things like this just don't happen to girls like her. These are the things that are reserved for fictional heroines in romantic comedies and her beloved books. She looks into his eyes - those beautiful blue eyes that are filled with so much hope and adoration - and never once in her entire life has she felt quite as loved as she does in this moment.

There's no other answer that she could possibly give...

"Yes!" she flings her arms around his neck and pulls him into a searing kiss, not even realising that she's crying until they pull apart and Tom brushes the tears from her cheeks. "This is mad," she laughs. "But it's right... so right."

He kisses her lips, her forehead and then the top of her hair as she buries her face into the crook of his shoulder, letting him hold her close and savour this moment - the moment that they will tell their children and grandchildren about. The moment that they got engaged. "Are you happy?"

Sybil nods. "How could I not be?"

"This isn't how I planned it, you know," admits Tom. "It was going to be far more romantic. You know when you asked me to bring you back a present? Well my plan was to find you a ring..."

"I don't care about all that," she replies. "It was perfect because it wasn't perfect, because it was spur of the moment and it just... happened. I'd say that sums us up perfectly, wouldn't you?"

He hasn't really got an answer for that and so he pulls her in for a kiss, only to break apart when a group of drunken youths start cheering them on from across the road.

**_-xxx-_ **

Having stopped off at another pub for a celebratory drink on the way home (which had turned into two, then three and then a couple of shots before they'd decided it was  **definitely** time to leave), they practically fall through the door of his mother's house, giggling and shushing one another like a pair of school children up to no good. As soon as the door is locked behind them, Sybil pushes Tom up against the wall and practically attacks him with a passionate yet somewhat sloppy kiss, reaching up to start undoing the buttons on his shirt before he's even had a chance to remove his coat.

"Someone's eager," he chuckles.

"You have no idea," she mumbles against his neck as she trails soft kisses up across his jaw to that little spot behind his ear that drives him wild with desire. "Remember Claridge's?"

Of course he remembers Claridge's - the scratch marks on his back hadn't gone down for days and he'd ached in places he didn't know it was possible to ache. That night had certainly been one of the most erotic and adventurous he'd ever known. "You can't be serious?" he asks. "In my mother's house?"

Sybil shrugs. "I'll bite a pillow."

Laughing, he sweeps his bride-to-be up into his arms and carries her off to bed.

**_-xxx-_ **

Some hours and many incredible shags later...

She lies half on top of him still, tracing abstract patterns on his chest with her finger. "Tom, I've been thinking," she says. "I want us to use some of my money."

Tom sits up slightly and looks at her quizzically. "What? But you said..."

"I know," Sybil cuts in. "But that was before you asked me to marry you. I want us to use it to put the deposit down on a flat or a nice little house somewhere. Maybe we could invest some of it in something; my family knows a lot about the stock markets so I'm sure they'd be willing to help us. I want us to build a future together... for us and any children we might have."  
He strokes her cheek as she looks up at him and even in the darkness he can see that she's completely serious. "What's brought this on?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "But it just seems like the right thing to do... it's what it's there for. I know we don't have to talk about it now, but I'm just putting it out there."

"I like the idea," replies Tom. "But I want to be a part of our lives financially too. I won't always be working several odd jobs just to pay the bills. I'll make something of myself, I promise."

"I know you will!" says Sybil. "I have every faith in you... and I love you so much. It wouldn't matter to me if you were the richest king or as poor as a church mouse, you're you and you love me. I couldn't possibly ask for any more than that."

Tom smiles. "Now who's the one dishing out the cheesy lines?"

"What can I say? I've learnt from the best."

He chuckles and wraps an arm around her. "So, when does the future Mrs Branson want to get married?"

"Err, Branson-Crawley thank you very much... maybe. I always liked the idea of a winter wedding. What about you?"

"Spring."

"That's such a cliché," she laughs. "Everyone does spring weddings. Can't you just picture a country house hotel somewhere, just the two of us, our immediate families and a couple of friends? Roaring fires and snow. Quiet and intimate... I think I'd like something like that."

"Ahh now, you see, that might be a bit of a problem," says Tom. "My family is Catholic, not one person has got married outside the church since before the war. I've got about a thousand cousins and, usually, they're all invited to these things... look at what happened at my father's funeral."

"We haven't even told them yet and I can already tell that this is going to be... interesting."

"I think interesting's an understatement," Tom replies. "Why don't we sleep on it? We can talk more in the morning."

Sybil grins wickedly and moves to straddle him. "I don't really feel like sleeping right now."

**_-xxx-_ **

He's not sure what time it is when he finally wakes up - the cold light of dawn is streaming in through the gap in the curtains and the last thing he wants to do is to leave the sanctuary of the bed. It takes him a moment to realise that he's not alone, that she's here beside him (well, half on top of him really) in his bed in the house he'd grown up in in this quiet suburb of Dublin...

...and she's going to marry him.

He doesn't know what he's done to be worthy of this wonderful, passionate and beautiful woman who sleeps so soundly beside him, who had walked into his life quite by accident on a rainy day little over a month earlier, but it doesn't really matter. He loves her and she loves him...

...the rest is detail.

She stirs and stretches out her legs, running a hand across her face as her eyes flutter open and she takes a moment to remember where she is.

Good morning," she whispers groggily and her smile is enough to melt his heart. "Yesterday happened then?"

He nods and shifts his position slightly so as she can snuggle against his chest, her wild curls tickling his bare skin. "I know I asked you last night, but are you absolutely certain this is what you want?"

"Yes," she replies in a heartbeat. "How could it not be? I love you, Tom..."

He grins and rolls them both over so that he's lying on top of her, kissing her neck and letting his hands wander across her stomach, hips and sides. "We'll make this work Sybil... I promise," he says, tenderly brushing his lips against hers as he lifts her leg up over his hip.

"Tom... no," she says, reluctantly pushing him away. "I need to shower... I haven't had one since before we left London yesterday."

He sighs and moves aside to give her enough room to make her escape, watching her as she crawls out of bed still completely naked. She is the epitome of beauty - hand carved by Bernini himself he'd once told her and she'd blushed prettily and told him that flattery would get him nowhere.

"Towels are in the airing cupboard in the bathroom," he tells her with a yawn. "Let me know if you need anything."

A wicked grin crosses her face at his words and he knows exactly what it is that she's thinking...

"Five minutes?" she suggests, slipping on his shirt from last night in an attempt to preserve at least some of her modesty should she run into his mother or either of his siblings.

"As you wish, Sybbie," he replies, feeling like all his birthdays and Christmases have come along at once.

She cocks an eyebrow at him and stares disapprovingly. "Call me that again and I might just have to lock the door."

"Well then promise me you won't tell anyone about or call me Tommy!"

"But it's cute!"

He laughs and shakes his head as she slips round the door and into the hall before he can respond. He can't believe they're engaged - he needs to get her a ring and makes a mental note to ask his mother if there's anything of his nana's that he can use. That's romantic, right? Family heirlooms and such. More so than one picked out from a jewellers window as his original plan had been anyway. He knows that there was a claddagh left to him in someone's will, but he's determined to save that for the wedding. The wedding - now there's another endless list of things that will need to be sorted. There's no rush though - they haven't even set a date.

He's so wrapped up in his thoughts that he doesn't realise how much time has passed and, not even bothering to put clothes on, he strides confidently towards the bathroom and the imminent fulfilment of one of his longest fantasies.

Aileen Branson sighs as she hears the racket from upstairs. Her eldest two hadn't been this bad, but the telltale banging of Kieran's headboard against the wall of her bedroom had made no secret of what he was up to and, as for Órlaith, well... she was far too young to be doing anything with boys, let alone that.

" _Oh God... oh yes_!"

"Mind if I shut the door, Mam?" asks Órlaith. "It's err... a bit chilly in here."

" _Mmm... oh, Tom... ahh... YES_!"

Kieran splutters as he chokes on his cornflakes, his attempts to stifle his laughter failing miserably - and there was him thinking that temporarily moving back into his mother's house would be boring.

"It might rain today," says Órlaith, a little louder than is probably necessary as she vigorously butters her toast.

"Pretty hard from what I hear," her brother replies.

"Kieran!" Aileen chides - he may be in his mid thirties, but his crassness and penchant for innuendo still earns him a telling off from his mother.

He's about to reply when everything suddenly goes quiet upstairs and, mere minutes later, Tom appears in the kitchen wearing a clean pair of pyjamas and his damp hair sticking out at various angles from where he's attempted to dry it off with a towel.

"Sybil's just in the shower," he says, sitting down at the table and helping himself to toast. The blush on Órlaith's cheeks and the telltale smirk on Kieran's face don't go unnoticed by the youngest of the Branson boys and he turns to look at his mother.

"What?"

Aileen sighs. "Nothing... now eat something! The two of you hardly touched anything last night and then went out drinking."

"Oh, I think something was touched alright."

"KIERAN!"

Tom's face drops. "Oh God... what did you hear?" He suddenly feels very hot and bothered and wants nothing more than for the ground to swallow him up.

"Enough," replies Órlaith. "But at least we can save money on the water bills."

Thankfully, Tom is used to such conversations and is rather glad that Sybil is still upstairs. Nothing was secret or tabooed in the Branson household - his rather liberal parents had spoken to their children about things such as sex, puberty and relationships from a very early age. It was perhaps one of the reasons why he found it so easy to talk about such things.

"So, is miss lah-de-dah joining us at any point?" asks Kieran.

"Don't call her that," Tom replies. "And yes, she is, she said she just had to phone her mother about something. Actually, I think I know what it is... You see, we're getting married."  
"What?!" the three others exclaim in unison.

"Is she pregnant?" Aileen adds.

"No."  
"Can I be a bridesmaid?"

"That really isn't up to me, Órlaith."

"Is it for the money?"

"No, Kieran, it's not about money. Why does it have to be about anything other than the fact that I love her and want to spend the rest of my life with her?"

Aileen sighs and takes a seat next to her son. "It doesn't, Tommy. At the end of the day, that's all that matters. It's just that it all seems a little... soon."

"I know," replies Tom. "But she's the one, I know she is."

"And does she make you happy?"

"Very."

"Good," smiles Aileen. "Then I'll gladly welcome her into our family."

**_-xxx-_ **

He takes some toast and a cup of tea up to Sybil, slightly worried by the fact she hasn't yet moved from his bedroom. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in a towel and clutching her phone to her chest.

"I spoke to my mother... I didn't tell her about us."

"Oh?" he replies. "Sorry, I thought that's what you were doing. I've just told Mam."  
"It's fine," says Sybil. "I was going to but then I just panicked... and I sort of ended up accepting Uncle James' offer to go up to Downton for Christmas."

"And?"

"And you're coming with me."

Christmas with the Crawleys? What could possibly go wrong?


	8. Kings of the Wild Frontier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He feels like he's stepped into a fairytale - or at least back in time - as he takes in the splendour of the Abbey. The colossal Christmas tree in the grand hallway looks like something from a Victorian Christmas card and he's absolutely in awe. Spending the holidays with her family might end up being absolute hell, but at least he can suffer in style."

Sybil rifles through Aileen's kitchen cupboards, observed by a very baffled Tom.

"Love, what are you doing?"

"Making myself useful," she replies. "I want to do something. I know your mother keeps saying that I don't have to and that I'm a guest in this house, but I can't just sit around."

Tom frowns. "And so you're going to do what exactly?"

"I'm going to bake!" she replies with a smile. She's like an excitable child at Christmas when she finds the ingredients and utensils that she needs. "Do you have any cocoa powder?"

"Órlaith likes hot chocolate... proper hot chocolate, so we should have some somewhere." He reaches up over her head into the cupboard, pressing his body against hers suggestively.

"No!" Sybil warns, fighting to hide her smirk.

"I can't help it," he replies. "I just remember what happened the last time I watched you bake."

"I didn't know icing could be enjoyed in so many ways."

Tom laughs and hands her the tub. "I think this is all we have left. Is it enough?"

Sybil shakes her head as she inspects the contents. "No... will you be a darling and go and get me some more?"

"Mam's gone shopping," he replies. "I'll phone her and ask her."

"No... don't do that. It'll ruin the surprise!"

Unable to resist her pout and pleading eyes, Tom sighs and grabs Kieran's car keys from the drawer. "As milady wishes," he says with a slight bow, ducking at the right moment as she launches a tea towel at his head.

Aileen and Órlaith return home some time later, greeted by the sound of laughter and the enticing smell of chocolate cake coming from the kitchen. She pauses in the doorway for a moment, watching her youngest son and his fiancée pottering around as they clean up after themselves.

"What's all this?" she asks, just as they lean in for a kiss.

Sybil looks up in surprise. "Oh, you're back?" she says. "Well, it was supposed to be a surprise but never mind. I baked a cake for after dinner... as a thank you. It's silly, really."

"It's not silly, dear," Aileen replies with a smile. "It's lovely. Now move, the two of you, so that I can make a start. We'll be eating at midnight at this rate!"

_**-xxx-** _

As tradition dictates, the whole of the Branson family descends on their mother's house the night before Tom leaves for London again. It's rare that they get the time to be together, he had explained to her and so they like to make the most of it when they do. Sybil can't remember the last time she sat down with her own family for Sunday lunch like this. Éamon and Niall's children are an absolute delight - so very polite and well mannered- and their wives are just as lovely. They ask her questions about where she's from, her family and what she does for a living - Niall's wife, Molly, teaches art at a local school and is particularly interested in Sybil's work.

"So what will you do for Christmas?" Lucy, Éamon's wife, asks.

"I'm going to go up to my family's house up in Yorkshire," she says, not entirely sure how to phrase this. "Well, it's not really their house anymore. It's owned by the National Trust but they have private use of it for a few months of the year."

"The National Trust?" says Niall with a smirk. "Do they live in a castle?"

"Not quite," she replies. "But close enough... I'd say more stately home than castle. It's more of a tourist attraction these days but up until about the nineteen-fifties it was the permanent home of the Earl and Countess of Grantham... my great-grandfather was the last Earl to reside there."

"So you're parents are..." Molly begins.

Sybil shakes her head. "No... my aunt and uncle are."

"What the hell are you marrying into, Tommy?" asks Kieran nonchalantly.

Lucy looks as though she's about to choke on a mouthful of carrot. "WHAT?!"

Tom smiles and takes Sybil's hand in his own. "We're engaged."

"Uncle Tommy's marrying a princess!" squeals Éamon's seven-year-old daughter, Caoimhe.

Her cousin Liam shakes his head. "She's not a princess!"

"But she said she lives in a castle."

"She isn't wearing a crown."

"We save those for  **very**  special occasions," Sybil laughs, already enamoured by her future niece and nephew. Éamon has another - a four year old boy named Dara - but the poor mite has come down with a cold and is upstairs sleeping.

"Can I have one?"

"Caoimhe," her father warns.

Caoimhe rolls her eyes and sighs and, just for a moment, Sybil sees the very image of Mary. "Can I have one,  **please**?"

The adults all laugh and Niall raises his glass in a toast to his little brother and his soon to be sister-in-law...

...It's almost enough to make Sybil want to stay here forever.

_**-xxx-** _

There's a gentle knock at the door of Tom's bedroom just as Sybil finishes packing the last of her things.

"Can I come in?" asks Órlaith. She's carrying two mugs of tea and two plates of the chocolate cake Sybil had made earlier.

Sybil nods. "After your mother's feast, I'm not sure I have room for cake."

"There's always room for cake."

"You sound like my brother-in-law," Sybil laughs. "He bakes too, though he's much better at it than I am."

Órlaith raises a sceptical eyebrow. "I highly doubt that," she says. "You'll have to let me sample some of his work at your wedding and then I can judge it... I can't believe Tommy's getting married!"

"You sound surprised."

"I am a little," she says. "I mean, he's had a few girlfriends but he never really kept any of them for very long. You know Tommy, he's a writer... an idealist so to speak... he had this vision of the perfect woman in his head and he never quite found her. Until you, obviously. My brothers never understood it. He had women practically throwing themselves at him and some he indulged, some he didn't... apparently. I would have been too young to remember him as a teenager though."

"How many years are there between you and Tom?"

"Ten," she replies. "It's a big gap I know but... has he told you?"

"Told me what?"

"About..."

"Is this a private party or can anyone join in?"

Both of them look up to see Tom standing in the doorway. "I've been with Kieran... he's still moping."

Órlaith sighs. "Has he managed to sort things out with Clare yet?"

Tom shakes his head. "She wants to see him tomorrow."

"What was it over?" Sybil asks, not meaning to pry but just out of curiosity.

"With those two? God knows," replies Órlaith. "They're like this all the time. Why they're even thinking about getting married is anyone's guess."

"Speaking of marriage," Sybil says, giving Tom a knowing look. "Do you think you'd be one of my bridesmaids? I know it seems a bit soon to ask but... while we're here."

Órlaith's eyes light up at the question. "Are you serious? I'd love too!" she flings her arms around Sybil's neck and pulls her into a tight embrace - if there's one thing the Branson family aren't it's shy of showing affection. "Thank you so much! Well, I best be getting off to bed. I'll see you before I go to school in the morning."

"Night, Órlaith," Sybil says.

Once she's gone, Tom moves to sit on the bed beside Sybil and sighs wearily. "I wasn't ear-wigging or anything, but my sister was about to tell you something, wasn't she?"

Sybil nods. "Is there something I should know?"

"Remember when we first met and there were things about your family that you didn't like to speak about? Well... you're not the only one, though mine is for slightly different reasons." He reaches into the drawer of his bedside table and pulls out an old and slightly worn photograph. "Here..."

Sybil studies the photograph of his family taken one Christmas. There are two faces on there she doesn't recognise - the first is easy enough to identify for Tom is the absolute image of his father. As for the little girl sitting on Ted Branson's lap, she's clueless. "This isn't Órlaith," she says, inspecting the date written on the back. "She wasn't even born then."

"That's Caoimhe... she was my sister."

"Was?" Sybil queries... and then it hits her. "Oh, Tom," she gasps. "How... I mean..."

"Leukaemia... she was seven."

"I don't know what to say..."

"Are you disappointed I didn't tell you?"

Sybil shakes her head. "How could I be?" she lovingly runs her fingers through his hair. Her heart aches for him - how can a man who has known all this grief still see so much light and beauty in the world? She doesn't pity him though - spending only a few days with his family is enough to know that they are some of the strongest people that she's ever met.

Tom lies back on the bed and pulls her down with him so that she can cuddle up against his chest. "It's why I am the way that I am," he says. "She was so young; she hadn't even begun to live her life yet. After she died, I made the decision to take each day as it comes at you, to live for the moment and never regret anything."

"Carpe Diem," Sybil mutters.

"Exactly," replies Tom. "I dropped out of Uni because I felt like I was wasting my time. I felt like I could be seeing or doing...  **something**  worthwhile. I know it turned out to be the complete opposite but I don't regret a single second. It's how I feel when it comes to you too... people are going to say all sorts of shit about us when they find out that we're getting married so soon, but I don't care. I asked you because I love you. I'd been looking for the next great adventure for so long, but then I met you and..."

"I love you, you rambling fool," she half laughs.

"I have gone off on one a bit, haven't I?"

"Just a little... Tom, let's not wait to get married. Let's just pick a date and do it. The sooner the better."

"Why?"

Sybil sighs. "Because I don't want us to be one of those couples who get engaged and then wait years to get married. I know what I want now... I want that adventure too. I want a life and a family with you. We don't have to do it all at once, but I just don't see the point in putting it off... and I think I do actually want to go to university now."

"To do what?"

She sits up slightly and smiles to herself. "I want to teach... I want to teach art," she says. "I've had the idea for a while, but speaking with Molly tonight has made me certain of it. If I can perhaps inspire people or even just pass on a little bit of love for art then I think that's an incredibly worthwhile use of my time."

"You never cease to amaze me," says Tom. "I think it's a brilliant idea."

"Do you really?"

He nods and leans forward to kiss her. "I do."

"I do," she repeats. "I rather like the sound of that."

Tom chuckles as he pulls the duvet around them and, for the first time in so very long, they don't make love before falling asleep. Instead, they are content to drift of in each other's arms as they talk about their hopes and dreams for the future they'll share together.

_**-xxx-** _

It's the Friday before Christmas and Kings Cross is absolutely packed - Tom has already managed to trip over an old lady, spill tea down his jeans and had to run back to his flat having forgotten Sybil's present. He arrives with mere minutes to spare, much to his fiancée's relief.

"I wouldn't have minded driving, you know," he says for about the fifth time. "Honestly."

"I know," replies Sybil. "But this is much easier. The place is a bugger to find on a Sat Nav and my sense of direction is just as bad. This way, we can relax, sleep and crack open a bottle of wine."

"It's ten in the morning."

"It's Christmas!" she says, resisting the urge to belt it in a way that Noddy Holder would be proud of. "So we change at York to go to Ripon and my cousin, Patrick, is going to meet us there and we'll drive back to Downton. I'm so excited for you to see it; it's such a beautiful place!"

Several hours later, they're greeted in Yorkshire by a smartly dressed man who looks to Tom to be in his late thirties, leaning against a sleek black Range Rover Sport.

"How do I address them all again?" Tom asks quietly as they walk towards him.

"They'll probably insist on first name terms but, just to be polite, I'd go with titles the first time round," she says. "Uncle James and Aunt Lizzie are Lord and Lady Grantham. This is Patrick, Lord Downton... "

Her cousin pulls her into a crushing hug and effortlessly lifts her off her feet. "You were such a gangly thing the last time I saw you," he chuckles before turning his attention to Tom.

"So you're the chap who was ruffling feathers at my Aunt and Uncle's anniversary meal then?" he asks with a smirk. "About time too, this family could use some new blood."

"Tom Branson, Lord Downton, it's nice to meet you at last," he says, shaking Patrick's outstretched hand.

Patrick scoffs. "Patrick, please. Sybbie's been telling you to be polite, hasn't she? Don't listen to her, her manners are awful."

"That's not true," Sybil replies. "And don't call me Sybbie!"

"See," says Tom. "It's not nice when people call you by your childhood nicknames when you don't want them to, is it"

"Shut up, Tommy."

**_-xxx-_ **

It's about an hour's drive from Ripon to Downton and Sybil chatters with her cousin non-stop. He's already decided that he rather likes Patrick - he seems a friendly enough man and he's has a feeling he's going to need as many people fighting in their corner as they can get. The viscount is a barrister in Manchester and lives in Cheshire with his French wife, Amélie, and their fifteen-year-old daughter, Rose.

"We're here!" exclaims an excitable Sybil just as Patrick is about to ask Tom what he does for a living.

His jaw drops at the sight of the house - she hadn't been joking when she had said that it wasn't quite a castle. Unloading their bags from the boot, the couple make their way inside and it warms his heart to see her looking so happy to be back here. Several days ago, she had confessed that she was actually looking forward to it in some respects - the house held so many fond memories and she was excited to share some of them with him. He feels like he's stepped into a fairytale - or at least back in time - as he takes in the splendour of the Abbey. The colossal Christmas tree in the grand hallway looks like something from a Victorian Christmas card and he's absolutely in awe. Spending the holidays with her family might end up being absolute hell, but at least he can suffer in style.

"Is that my Sybil?" an elderly woman asks as she comes down the stairs.

"Aunt Lizzie!" she says and allows her aunt to fuss over her. "Aunt Lizzie, this is Tom, my... boyfriend." She almost slips and introduces him as her fiancé out of habit but they've made the decision to make their announcement on Christmas day when the entire family will be gathered together. "Tom, this is my aunt, Lady Grantham."

"Hello, Tom," she smiles. "Please, call me Elizabeth. Now, my dear, your room is all ready for you. Put your things up there and then we'll have tea... I feel like I haven't seen you in so long."

"Am I in with you?" asks Tom once they're alone again.

Sybil nods. "Of course you are," she says. "What did you think they were going to do? Put you at the far end of the old bachelor's corridor and put a padlock on my door?"

She's laughing, he isn't.

"Oh, Tom, relax... we'll be fine."

"You've changed your tune," he says with a quirk of an eyebrow.

She sighs and reaches out to take his hand as she pauses at the top of the stairs. "I was worried about coming here on my own. My family may prove to be an absolute nightmare, but I already feel stronger knowing that we can tackle them together."

Tom smiles and kisses her forehead. "Fair point," he concedes before looking at her with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "Besides, I've always fancied doing it in a library."


	9. Wonderful Christmas Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't be silly, dear," says Violet. "You will be married in Downton. It's tradition."
> 
> Sybil looks at Tom nervously and then back to her grandmother. "Well you see, Granny, that might be a bit of a problem," she says. "Tom's family is Catholic."
> 
> There's a stunned silence around the dinner table and Tom just wants to curl up into a ball and hide.
> 
> As ever, Violet brushes it off and completely ignores what has just been said. "I'll ring Travis in the morning."

Just as the Branson clan had gathered around their mother's kitchen table, Crawley custom saw the younger members of the family traipsing down to the local pub in the village. It's packed to the rafters and the sort of place where everybody seems to know everybody else. Conversation flows easily and it's the most relaxed Tom has felt since they arrived in Downton and it's not long before he's laughing along with the others as they each recall their fondest memories of Christmas past.

"What is this, the Stepford husbands club?" he whispers in Sybil's ear, noticing the similarities between Matthew and Patrick.

She swats his arm and giggles. "Be nice," she warns. "I'm going to go and give Mary a hand."

Her sister is at the bar getting the drinks in, just entering her pin number into the machine when Sybil finds her.

"You didn't get yourself one," she says, noticing the absence of the usual gin and tonic.

"I did," replies Mary pointing to a glass of coke on the bar.

Sybil picks it up and gives it a sniff. "There's no vodka in that, or Bacardi, or Malibu... something you want to tell me?"

"Just leave it, Sybil." In true Mary fashion, she turns her back with a flick of her hair, carrying the tray of drinks back towards their table in the corner. With a sigh, Sybil picks up the bottle of wine and the glasses she's left behind and follows - there's no way she's giving up on this. She thinks she knows what it is but she just wants to hear her say it herself.

"I'm going to the loo," she says very matter-of-factly. "Coming, Mary?"

Mary glares at her, knowing that she's going to have to come clean, and gets to her feet.

"What is it with women and going to the loo in groups? What do they think's going to happen in there?" asks Matthew, handing out pints to Tom and Patrick.

"You obviously never read Harry Potter," replies Edith dryly, rummaging through her handbag to try and find her ringing phone.

"Agreed," adds Tom. "A lot of shit went down in the girls' toilets. It's not even like it's a British thing either. They do it Ireland too..."

"And France," Amélie concurs, pouring three large glasses of wine for herself, Edith and Sybil when she gets back.

"Anthony, darling!" Edith exclaims as she answers the phone. "You're here! Hold on, I'll come out now..."

Tom furrows his brow and looks to the others for an explanation. "Who's Anthony?"

"Her boyfriend," replies Amélie, her English still heavily accented even after living here for so long. "Though I think that might be pushing it a bit. He is, well...  _un vieil homme_."

"I wouldn't say old man as such," says Matthew, thankfully translating as Tom's French is a little rusty - these days it doesn't really extend beyond " _deux bieres, s'il vous plait_."

"So... what's the problem?"

"He was in the same year as Uncle Robert at school," says Patrick. "His last wife left him for a younger man and they're currently living it up in Puerto Banus courtesy of the money she got from the divorce. It's no secret that Edith's desperate to marry him, but she just refuses to see that it's unlikely because he's scared that the same thing will happen again."

Tom nods - this family gets crazier by the second. "But she loves him?"

"I think she's in love with the idea of him... maybe, it's hard to tell with Edith sometimes. She and Mary have always been... ROSE!"

A giggling blonde girl stops dead in her tracks. "Daddy? I... err."

This, Tom presumes, must be Patrick and Amélie's daughter - a girl who has locked herself in her room these past few days and barely said two words to anyone...

And it looks like she's in trouble.

**_-xxx-_ **

Meanwhile, in the ladies...

Checking that they're alone, Sybil leans against the sinks and forces her sister to look into her eyes. "What's going on, Mary?" she asks.

"I thought that would have been obvious by now."

"So... are you?"

Mary gives a tearful nod and gladly welcomes her little sister's embrace. "Yes."

Sybil frowns. "You don't seem terribly ecstatic about it... stupid question but what does Matthew think?"

"He doesn't know yet," Mary mumbles. "I haven't told him."

Sybil's jaw drops - how could she possibly keep something like this from her husband? "But... why?" she asks. "It's what you've both wanted for so long."

"That's just it," replies Mary. "I thought I... we couldn't. I've gotten my hopes up so many times in the past and it's come to nothing. I couldn't put him through that again... not until I was certain that everything is alright... I was going to tell him tonight and the rest of the family tomorrow."

"Well, it's certainly going to be an interesting day then... I've got something to tell them too."

This time it's Mary's turn to be shocked. "Not you as well?"

"Oh God, no," she says. "No, I'm not pregnant... I'm getting married."

Mary doesn't get the chance to respond before the door to the toilets is flung open and in storms a hysterical Edith.

"He's left me... he came all the way here to tell me that it's over."

"What? Who?"

"It's Christmas Eve for God's sake, couldn't he just pretend for a few days more... maybe wait until after New Year's Eve so that I don't have to spend it singing ' _All By Myself_ ' in my pyjamas like Bridget Jones..."

"Edith," Mary says when her sister finally comes up for air. "What in God's name are you babbling on about?"

"Anthony's left me," she wails and lets her head fall against Mary's shoulder. "It's over."

Never really one for sympathy, Mary merely stands there and pats Edith on the back (well, it looks more like petting) and mouths something along the lines of "what do I do now?" to Sybil. Sensing that desperate measures are called for, she pulls out her phone and calls Tom with a somewhat peculiar request.

Minutes later, her dutiful and somewhat baffled boyfriend appears with the half empty bottle of wine and glasses she'd asked him to bring. There's not even time for her to explain before Edith has grabbed the bottle out of his hand and slumps down against the wall.

"Right," he says, surveying the scene in front of him. "Can someone please explain what's going on?"

"Edith's boyfriend broke up with her," Says Mary.

Tom looks at his girlfriend quizzically - that doesn't exactly answer his question as to why she and Mary have been in here for what seems like an age. He sees the sisters exchange a look before she answers him. "Mary's pregnant."

"Oh... congratulations," he says. "That's wonderful."

"Absolutely bloody marvellous," comes Edith's reply between mouthfuls of wine. "So what are you two? Engaged?" she asks sarcastically and with a hint of bitter laughter.

"Well, actually... yes."

"I hate my life," she mumbles to herself and Mary snatches away the bottle before she starts to do something stupid - past experience tells her that an emotional Edith and wine don't mix.

Sybil sighs. "Oh, it's really not that bad," she says, trying to offer some words of comfort. "Anthony doesn't deserve you... you're far too good for him and..."

The door swings open a third time and in rushes Rose, a hand over her mouth as she heads straight for the cubicles and empties the contents of her stomach and her mother following close behind, bellowing at her in fluent French.

"You stupid, STUPID GIRL!" she yells, seemingly oblivious to the others crowded round the sinks (Sybil having jumped up to sit on them to make some room in this now somewhat crowded space). "You are fifteen years old! I expected better of you... Oh, I didn't see you all there."

"I take it Rose is in trouble again?" asks Mary, arching an immaculately shaped eyebrow.

Amélie sighs. "I thought we were past all this... I have no idea what the little madam is trying to prove but all she is doing is making herself look ridiculous. Maybe we really should send her to school in France..."

"NO!" comes Rose's protest above the flush of the toilet. "No, please Mummy, don't send me to France. I'll stop... I'll change. I promise..."

The look on Sybil and Mary's faces tells Tom that this isn't the first time Rose has gotten herself into such a state - it was clear for anyone to see that the teenager was quite clearly drunk out of her skull. Deciding to make the most of this spectator sport, he reaches for the wine bottle that Mary had set down by the sink and takes a swig before offering it to Sybil who gladly accepts once he's finished.

"I told you Christmas wouldn't be boring up here," she whispers into his ear and making him laugh.

"Who would have thought that bonding with the Crawley women would mean listening to your woes in the ladies loo," he smirks.

"Why are you in here?" asks Rose.

"Don't be rude!" her mother chides. "But I suppose you do have a point."

"I was summoned," replies Tom.

Sybil nods. "Edith and Anthony broke up."

"Mary's pregnant," adds Edith.

"And Sybil's getting married."

It's a lot of information to get in such a short space of time and - like mother, like daughter - Rose and Amélie stand there with their mouths slightly agape. "I... I don't know what to say," replies Amélie.

"I think I'm going to be sick!" says Rose, and proceeds to vomit all over Tom's shoes just as a middle-aged woman comes through the door.

"Oh, I'm sorry... is this the queue?"

**-xxx-**

Tom emerges from the bathroom having put his ruined shoes to soak in the bath and his back is beginning to ache from where he'd carried Rose back to the Abbey. She'd called him her hero and kissed him on the cheek before passing out on her bed.

"I think Rose rather fancies you," says Sybil as she pulls off her jeans. "I've got competition."

Tom chuckles. "You're the only woman for me, darlin'" he says and helps her with the fiddly little button on the back of her top. "She wasn't even that drunk... I got myself into worse states when I was fifteen."

"I bet your mother loved that," she replies with a smirk. "Eventful night, wasn't it?"

Tom nods. "Just a bit... poor Edith though."

"That's become something of a Crawley family catchphrase in recent years. Oh but I'm so happy for Mary, though I can't believe she hasn't told Matthew yet."

"How long have they been trying for a baby?"

"Since before they got married," she tells him. "Remember that night in Claridge's when she disappeared for ages? Well, when I found her, she was really upset. She'd been certain that she was pregnant but that night... well, I'm sure you know enough about women to understand how she knew she wasn't."

"Matthew seems like a good man," says Tom. "I like him; he'll be a great Dad."

"You will be too."

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

Sybil laughs. "No... I do want that, really I do. Just not yet... I've already told you that I want to go to university and to teach. I want us to have a life together first."

"I feel exactly the same," replies Tom, plugging the charger into his phone and noticing the time flashing up. "Merry Christmas, love."

"Merry Christmas," she replies and wraps her arms around his neck as he leans in for a kiss.

"Do you want your present now?"

Having a feeling she knows exactly what it is, she nods and can barely contain her smile as he reaches into his suitcase and pulls out a tiny box wrapped in deep blue paper and tied with a silver ribbon - her favourite colours.

"Tom!" she squeals as she finally uncovers what's inside. "It's beautiful!" The ring quite literally takes her breath away - it's an old cut diamond flanked by six smaller eight cut diamonds set in platinum. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I found it in a second-hand jewellery shop when we were in Dublin," he says. "The owner had a few antiques in the window and I just saw it and though of you. She said it's from the nineteen-twenties, a real one of a kind piece... may I?"

She nods and hands it over to him, laughing as he gets down on one knee and takes her hand in his own. "I told you I was going to do this properly... Sybil Crawley, will you do me the absolute honour of becoming my wife?"

"Oh, go on then," she replies with a giggle, still feeling as emotional as she did the first time around as he slides the ring onto her finger.

"There," Tom smiles. "It feels official now, don't you think."

"I love you."

"I love you too," he replies. "We should pick a date."

"I have an idea," says Sybil and, relinquishing her hold on him, she reaches for her diary and a pen before moving to sit down on the bed. "Here's a calendar for next year... I say we leave it up to fate. Close your eyes and grab my hand."

Puzzled, he does as she says and she moves their joined hands around a little, the pen held loosely between her own fingers.

"Now," she says, and makes a mark against the paper. Opening their eyes, they look to where it has landed. "There we have it," she smiles. "Our wedding day. Does that suit you?"

Tom leans forward and kisses her forehead tenderly. "It's absolutely perfect."

**_-xxx-_ **

The family comes down early on Christmas morning and there are most certainly one or two thick heads - Rose in particular seems to be suffering, but her silence is apparently rather normal anyway and the girl looks like she wants to vomit when James offers her a glass of Bucks Fizz. They're gathered in the library to exchange gifts and, thus far, Sybil's ring has gone unnoticed.

"This one's for you," she says, holding out a box to Tom. "It's not much, but I hope you like it."

Feeling everyone's eyes upon him, he unwraps her gift of a moleskine notebook and an exquisite Mont Blanc fountain pen that he's had his eye on for a very long time but never in his wildest dreams had ever thought of actually owning. "Sybil," he says. "This is... I mean... wow."

"You're always saying that you keep having ideas but never having anywhere to write them down. I just thought it would be... useful," she says with a shy smile. "I hope you like it... open the first page of the book."

When he does, he smiles at what he sees - it's an intricate art-nouveau style border painted in watercolours and a quote by one of his favourite authors written in beautiful gold calligraphy. " _A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery_..." he reads aloud.  
"Joyce, I believe," says Matthew. "Ulysses?"

Tom nods and, forgetting where he is for a moment, pulls Sybil in for a kiss. "It's wonderful... thank you so much."

Cora gasps and the whole room turns to look at her, most of them puzzled by the look of shock on her face. "Sybil!" she says. "Is that...?"

Sybil looks down at her left hand, adoring the way the diamonds sparkle as the light hits it. "We were going to tell you at dinner," she says, wrapping her arm around Tom's waist and looking up at him lovingly. "We're getting married... and we've set a date!"

"Good God!" exclaims her father. "You've only been together five minutes.

"Perhaps," replies Tom, still staring into Sybil's eyes. "But it already feels like a lifetime... we need you all to be free on the twelfth of January."

"Oh and would that be the twelfth of January two-thousand-and-fourteen or the twelfth of January as in two weeks from now."

"Two weeks from now," replies Sybil. "We don't see the point in wasting any time and it would have been Tom's parents ruby wedding anniversary."

"You're not pregnant, are you?"

Sybil rolls her eyes. "Oh really, Papa, this is the twenty-first century, do you really think we'd bother getting married just because I was pregnant? Which, for the record, I am not."

"But I am," Mary pipes up, coming to her little sister's rescue. "Matthew and I are going to have a baby."

"Well this is most certainly one of the more interesting Christmas mornings we've ever had," Elizabeth chuckles, filling up Edith's glass. "Congratulations, girls... I'm very happy for you both."

"As am I, my darlings," Cora smiles and Sybil makes a mental not to try and spend some time alone with Edith later on.

**_-xxx-_ **

Around mid-afternoon, everyone retreats upstairs to dress for dinner - the men look smart in suits and the women dazzle in cocktail dresses of various cuts and colours. Of course, to Tom, none of them look quite as beautiful as Sybil and he can't keep his eyes off her as she converses with Mary.

"So Matthew wasn't too upset that you didn't tell him about the baby in the end?"

"No," Mary replies, taking a sip of water. "He surprisingly understood and it's amazing just what sins can be forgiven with the help of a little Agent Provocateur. Honestly, darling, we must get you something for your wedding night... something rather naughty."

"We are not having this conversation here," Sybil says with a slight blush. She and Mary have always been quite open when it comes to discussing sex - from losing her virginity to buying her first vibrator, she had found a surprising confidant in her eldest sister - but that didn't mean that she wanted to discuss these things at the dinner table. "Show me some of your stuff later and I'll see if there's anything I like the look of." She looks up at Tom and makes it obvious that they're talking about him by sucking her spoon seductively, trying to contain her giggles at the fact that she's making him squirm.

"So Sybil," Violet pipes up, demanding her granddaughter's attention. "You and your Mr Branson are to be married just after new year."

Sybil nods and smiles at Tom across the table. "Yes, Granny... I can't wait. We haven't got much time so it's just going to be a small wedding somewhere in London, maybe a hotel or a registry office."

"Don't be silly, dear," says Violet. "You will be married in Downton. It's tradition."

Sybil looks at Tom nervously and then back to her grandmother. "Well you see, Granny, that might be a bit of a problem," she says. "Tom's family is Catholic."

There's a stunned silence around the dinner table and Tom just wants to curl up into a ball and hide.

As ever, Violet brushes it off and completely ignores what has just been said. "I'll ring Travis in the morning."

Tom sighs and shakes his head as he meets Sybil's eyes - planning this wedding is already looking to be something of a nightmare and they haven't even started.

**_-xxx-_ **

Sybil finds Edith sitting alone outside some time around midnight and, handing her sister a steaming hot mug of mulled wine, she sits down on the stone steps beside her.

"Are you alright?" she asks.

"Fine," replies Edith rather bluntly. "Though, if you must know, I'm incredibly jealous of both you and Mary right now."

Sybil sighs. "He's not worth your tears," she says and links her arm with Edith's. "You're worth ten of him and he's a fool for not being able to see just how wonderful you are and that he's probably not going to be able to do better."

"You're just saying that to make me feel better," Edith sniffs, trying to fight her tears. "I love him, Sybil, and what if  **I** can't do better?"

"I'm  **not**  just saying it! It's true... you just need to have a little bit of faith in yourself," says Sybil encouragingly. "I know that all this talk of weddings and babies isn't what you want to hear right now, but I have something to ask you. Will you be my maid of honour?"

Edith's eyes widen in surprise. "Me? You want me to do it? I would have thought you'd ask Mary..."

"Oh really, Edith, don't you remember the pact we made when we were little?" comes Mary's voice from behind them. She moves to sit on the other side of Edith and, unfurling the blanket she's brought with her, they drape it around their shoulders and relish in the warmth it brings. "We always agreed that Sybil would be my maid of honour, I would be yours and you would be hers."

"I thought you only asked Sybil when you got married because you don't like me."

"It's not that I don't like you at all," replies Mary. "You annoy me sometimes and we may have our disagreements, but we're family and that's what families do."

Edith smiles - her first genuine smile all day. "I may be jealous, but I really am so happy for both of you," she says. "And I'm so glad things worked out alright in the end, Sybil... so glad that you came home."

"So am I," Sybil replies and rests her head on Edith's shoulder...

Yes, she's very glad she came home indeed.

Robert Crawley watches the three of them huddled together under the blanket, laughing and giggling about something whilst they sit under the stars like they used to when they were little girls. He's so lost in his thoughts that it takes him a moment to realise that Tom is standing beside him.

"Be good to her, Branson," he says. "And for God's sake, just make sure you're a better father to your daughters than I ever was to mine."


End file.
